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THE 

ABNER   WELLBORN   CALHOUN 

MEDICAL  LIBRARY 

1923 


BOOK- 


PRESENTED   BY 


j/T.    AAary    Z  .  ^kor^^i 


PASSAGES 


FROM    THE 


DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN 


SAMUEL  WAEREN,  F.R.S. 


•'  what  is  nearest  us,  toucheR  us  most.    The  passions  rise  higher  at  iloniL-stic 
than  at  imperial  tragedies." — ha.  Johnson. 


A   NEW   EDITION   IN   TWO    VOLUMES 

VOL.  I. 


WILLIAM     BLACKWOOD     AND     SONS 

EDINBURGH    AND    LONDON 
MDCCCLII 


PRINTED    BY   WILLfAM   BLACKWOOD   AND   SONS,    EDINBURGH. 


SAMUEL    LILCKENDEY    WARREN, 

IMY    ELDEST   CHILD, 

THIS  MT   EARLIEST   PUBLICATION 

IS    MOST     AEFECTIONATELT    INSCRIBED, 

Br   HIS   LOVING  FATHER, 

THE    AUTHOR. 


PREFACE  TO  FIFTH  EDITION. 


The  first  chapter  of  these  "  Passages  from  the  Diary  of 
a  late  Physician"  appeared  in  Blackwood's  Magazine  in 
August  1830,  and  the  last  in  August  1837.  The  first  sepa- 
rate publication  of  them,  in  two  volumes,  took  place  in 
1832,  between  which  period  and  the  present,  four  very- 
large  impressions  of  them  have  been  exhausted  ;  and  it  is  a 
great  satisfaction,  both  to  my  publisher  and  myself,  to  find 
that  this  has  been  eifected  without  having,  in  any  way,  had 
recourse  to  the  modern  system  of  puffing ;  that  miserable 
source  of  the  degradation  of  literature.  A  fifth  edition 
having  been  called  for,  is  accompanied  by  the  Third 
Volume,  which  contains  all  the  chapters  that  have  since 
made  their  appearance  ia  Blackwood's  Magazine. 

As  it  lately  became  necessary,  ia  the  course  of  Chancery 
proceediags  instituted  by  Mr  Blackwood  against  parties 
who  had  pirated  considerable  portions  of  this  work,  that  I 
should  make  oath  of  the  fact  of  my  being  the  sole  author 


of  it ;  and  as  it  has  been,  both  at  home  and  abroad,  long 
confidently  attributed  to  other  people — I  now  repeat  the 
statement,  that  I  am  the  sole  author  of  every  portion  of 
the  work,  and,  in  deference  to  the  wishes  of  my  family, 
place  my  name,  as  such  author,  upon  the  title-page.*  It 
is  not  necessary  to  trouble  the  reader  with  the  reasons 
that  induced  me  so  long  to  abstain  from  doing  so. 

To  account  for  any  appearance  of  familiarity  with 
medical  details  in  this  work,  I  may  add,  that  I  was  for 
six  years  actively  engaged  in  the  practical  study  of  physic 
— a  profession,  however,  which  I  quitted  in  the  month  of 
September  1827, 

It  may,  perhaps,  be  not  uninteresting  to  the  reader — 
merely,  however,  as  a  matter  of  petty  literary  detail — to 
be  informed,  that  the  first  chapter  of  this  "  Diary" — the 
Early  Struggles — was  oflTered  by  me  successively  to  the 
conductors  of  three  leading  magazines  in  London,  and 
rejected,  as  "  unsuitable  for  their  pages,"  and  "  not  likely 
to  interest  the  public."  In  despair,  I  bethought  myself  of 
the  Great  Northern  Magazine.     I  remember  taking  my 

*  In  three  foreign  editions  of  the  "  Diary,"  the  name  of  "  Db 
Harrison  "  is  placed  upon  the  title-page  ;  in  England  several  per- 
sons have  actually  stated  themselves  to  be  the  writers  of  this  work  • 
others,  that  they  have  contributed  towards  it.  I  need  hardlv  say 
that  all  such  statements  are  entirely  untrue. 


packet  to  Mr  Cadell's,  in  the  Strand,  with  a  sad  suspicion 
that  I  sliould  never  see  or  hear  any  thing  more  of  it : 
but  at  the  close  of  the  month  I  received  a  letter  from 
Mr  Blackwood,  informing  me  that  he  had  inserted  the 
chapter,  and  begging  me  to  make  arrangements  for  imme- 
diately proceeding  regularly  with  the  series.  It  expressed 
his  cordial  approval  of  the  first  chapter,  and  predicted  that 
I  was  likely  to  produce  a  series  of  papers  well  suited  for 
his  Magazine,  and  calculated  to  interest  the  public.  It 
would  be  great  affectation  in  me,  and  ingratitude  towards 
the  public,  were  I  to  conceal  my  belief  that  his  expecta- 
tions have  been  in  some  degree  verified  by  the  event. 
Here  I  wish  to  pay  a  brief  and  sincere  tribute  to  the 
memory  of  my  late  friend,  Mr  Blackwood.  I  shall  ever 
cherish  it  with  respect  and  affection.  I  have  this  morning 
been  referring  to  nearly  fifty  letters  which  he  wrote  to  me 
during  the  publication  of  the  first  Fifteen  Chapters  of  the 
"  Diary."  The  perusal  of  them  has  occasioned  me  lively 
emotion.  All  of  them  evidence  the  remarkable  tact  and 
energy  with  which  he  conducted  his  celebrated  Magazine. 
Harassing  as  were  his  labours  at  the  close  of  every  month, 
he  nevertheless  invariably  wrote  to  me  a  letter  of  con- 
siderable length,  in  style  terse,  vigorous,  and  accurate — 
full  of  interesting  comments  on  literary  matters  in  general, 
and  instructive  suggestions  concerning  my  own  papers  in 


particular.  He  was  a  man  of  strong  intellect,  of  great 
practical  sagacity,  of  unrivalled  energy  and  industry,  of 
high  and  inflexible  honour  in  every  transaction,  great  or 
small,  that  I  ever  heard  of  his  being  concerned  in.  But 
for  him,  this  Work  would  certainly  never  have  been  in 
existence ;  and  should  it  be  so  fortunate  as  to  live,  I  wish 
it  ever  to  be  accompanied  by  the  tribute  I  here  sincerely 
and  spontaneously  pay  to  the  memory  of  my  departed 
friend,  William  Blackwood. 

I  hope  I  may  be  permitted  to  add  a  word  or  two  con- 
cerning the  general  nature  of  this  Work,  and  my  design 
in  writing  it.  I  never  desired  to  count  myself  among  the 
myriad  novelists  of  the  present  age.  Even  were  I  able,  I 
have  no  ambition  to  attempt  such  a  thing ;  all  I  wished 
was  to  present  some  of  the  results  of  my  own  personal 
observation  of  life  and  character  in  their  most  striking 
exemplification — to  illustrate,  at  it  were,  the  real  practical 
working  of  virtues  and  vices.  With  this  view  I  have  ever, 
of  set  purpose,  selected  the  most  ordinary  incidents,  the 
simplest  combinations  of  circumstances ;  never  attempting 
to  disturb  or  complicate  the  development  of  character 
and  of  feeling  with  intricacy  of  plot,  or  novelty  of  inci- 
dent. To  this  plan  I  have  steadily  adhered  throughout 
the  Work,  and  I  hope  it  has  gained  the  approbation  of 
sober  and  judicious  readers. — I  trust  I  shall  be  pardoned 


and  not  treated  as  vain  or  egotistical,  if  I  venture  to 
extract  the  following  passages  from  the  "  Preface  by  the 
Translator,"  prefixed  to  the  German  edition  of  this  Work, 
as  they  have  greatly  gratified  me,  and  also  given  that  par- 
ticular character  to  my  labours  which  I  have  always  been 
so  anxious  to  vindicate  for  them: — 

"  This  Work  is  such  an  unusual  literary  production, 
that  even  on  that  account  a  translation  of  it  into  German 
can  by  no  means  appear  an  unworthy  undertaking.  A 
further  and  better  acquaintance  with  the  original  has 
strengthened  the  translator  in  his  purpose,  and  has  also 
convinced  him  of  the  merits  of  these  '  Passages.'  Indeed, 
he  is  now  of  opinion  that  this  Work,  though  at  first  sight, 
perhaps,  appearing  to  belong  to  the  class  of  amusing  liter- 
ature, far  distinguishes  itself,  by  its  intrinsic  worth,  from 
the  usual  run  of  fashionable  literary  productions.  It  con- 
tains a  series  of  psychological  sketches  of  human  nature 
in  various  conditions,  and  especially  in  the  last  moments  of 
life.  *  *  *  They  bear  on  them  the  undoubted  stamp  of 
genuineness ;  and  the  reflecting  reader  must  be  convinced, 
by  the  many  characteristic  touches  with  which  most  of  them 
abound,  that  these  narratives  are  at  least  founded  upon 
truth ;  he  will  further  feel  persuaded  that  facts — -facts  wit- 
nessed by  the  author,  are  related — though,  undoubtedly, 
here  and  there  the  reality  has  been  coloured  and  veiled  by  a 


fiction-like  dress,  *  *  *  Although  those  narratives  are,  for 
the  most  part,  of  a  peculiarly  melancholy  cast,  and  although, 
perhaps,  we  might  have  wished  that  the  author  had  more 
spared  the  feelings  of  his  readers,  and  that  many  close  dis- 
sections of  human  misery  had  been  omitted ;  yet  it  must 
be  owned  that  even  the  most  gloomy  and  heart-rending 
parts  of  these  sketches  are  rich  in  thrilling  situations  and 
psychological  perceptions — that  a  bright  fountain  of  advice 
and  warning  springs  from  them  all.  The  tendency  of 
his  work  is  throughout  pure  and  moral ;  which  must 
secure  for  him  the  most  grateful  acknowledgments  from 
such  even  of  his  readers  (amongst  whom  the  translator  is 
bound  to  place  himself)  as  cannot  perfectly  agree  in  the 
strict  religious  opinions  of  the  author.  *  *  *  The  trans- 
lation has  been  made  with  the  greatest  accuracy;  and, 
with  the  exception  of  a  few  polemical  observations, 
nothing  is  altered." 

I  certainly  feel  much  gratified  by  the  approbation  of 
my  labours  here  expressed;  but  am  quite  at  a  loss  to 
divine  what  can  be  the  "  religious  opinions"  from  which 
such  a  translator  would  dissent,  or  the  "polemical  observa- 
tions" he  has  found  it  necessary  to  suppress.  Beino-  a  firm 
believer  in  Christianity — a  conscientious  member  of  the 
Church  of  England — I  hope  and  believe  that  nothino-  wiU 
be  found  in  this  book  inconsistent  with  such  an  avowal. 


jT 


I  do  not  intend  to  vindicate  my  selection  of  characters, 
scenes,  and  incidents.  Some  of  them  have  been  pretty 
freely  remarked  upon  by  the  press ;  all  I  can  say,  how- 
ever, being,  that  my  aim  has  been  in  every  case  for  the 
best.  One  or  two  exceedingly  severe,  perhaps  I  might 
add,  wanton  and  malignant  attacks,  have  been  made  upon 
some  of  them ;  but  I  heartily  forgive  those  who  have  done 
so,  whoever  they  may  be.  In  conclusion,  I  know,  alas ! 
that  this  work  has  many  imperfections ;  but  it  has  been 
too  long  in  too  many  forms  before  the  world  for  me  to  at- 
tempt, even  were  I  so  disposed,  extensive  alterations.  Such 
as  it  is,  I  now  finally  commit  it,  in  this  its  complete  and 
authentic  form,  to  the  judgment  of  the  public,  very 
thankful  for  their  approbation,  and  deferential  to  their 
censure.  The  duties  of  a  laborious  profession  may  not 
admit  of  my  making  any  further  contributions  to  literature, 
or  I  might,  perhaps,  attempt  to  prove  myself  worthier  of 
the  favour  I  have  experienced,  and  cheerfully  exclaim, 

"  To-morrow  to  fresh  woods  and  pastures  new  ! " 

Samuel  Warren. 

Inner  Temple,  London,  31st  Oct.  1837. 


CONTENTS  OF  VOLUME  FIRST. 


pAae 

NOTICE  TO  THE  READER xv 

INTRODUCTION, xvii 

CHAF.  I.  EARLY  STRUGGLES, 3 

n.  CANCER Xi 

III.  THE  DENTIST  AND  THE    COMEDIAN,.-. 38 

IV.  A  SCHOLAR'S  DEATHBED,     40 

V.  PREPARING  FOR  THE  HOUSE, 57 

VI.  DUELLING.    63 

Vn.  INTRIGUING  AND  MADNESS 75 

NOTE  TO  THE  EDITOR  OF  BLACKWOOD'S  MAGA- 
ZINE,    ib. 

VHL  THE  BROKEN  HEART, .' 97 

IX.  CONSUMPTION, 105 

X.  THE  SPECTRAL  DOG 131 

A  CORROBORATORY  LETTER 136 

XI.  THE  FORGER,    138 

Xn.  A  MAN  ABOUT  TOWN,      151 

NOTE  TO  THE  EDITOR  OF  BLACKWOOD, 185 

VINDICATION  OF  THE  ABOVE,      186 

Xm.  DEATH  AT  THE  TOILET,    187 

XIV.  THE  TURNED  HEAD,   191 


CONTENTS  OP  VOLUME  FIKST. 

TiOB 


XV.  THE  WIFE, ^**® 

NOTE,    ^^ 

XVI.  GEAVE  DOINGS '^• 

XVn.  THE  SPECTRE-SMITTEN, 249 

XVni.   THE  MAETTR  PHILOSOPHER 279 

XIX.  THE  STATESMAN,    325 

XX.  A  SLIGHT  COLD,  377 

XXI.  RICH  AND  POOR, 391 

XXn.  THE  RUINED  MERCHANT "tUS 


NOTICE  TO  THE  READER. 


The  Editor  hopes  the  event  will  prove,  that  he  was  not 
wrong  in  supposing  the  public  would  view  with  favour  the 
re-appearance  of  these  "  Passages"  in  their  present  form. 
He  was  led  to  indulge  such  hopes,  by  seeing  the  flattering 
terms  in  which  this  Diary  was  mentioned,  from  time  to 
time,  by  many  respectable  journals  in  London  and  else- 
where, during  its  successive  appearance  in  Blackwood's 
Magazine  ;  by  the  circumstance  of  its  translation  into  the 
French  language  at  Paris ;  and  by  its  republication  sepa- 
rately in  America,  where  the  sale  has  been  so  extensive 
that  the  work  is  now  stereotyped. 

Several  additional  sketches  were  intended  to  have  been 
inserted;  but  this  was  found  impracticable,  without  ex- 
tending the  work  to  a  third  volume.  Much  new  matter, 
however,  wiU  be  found  introduced  in  the  notes,  and  the 
whole  has  been  very  carefully  revised — although  some 


Xvi  NOTICE  TO  THE  READER. 

errors  have  crept  in,  after  all,  owing  chiefly  to  the  work  s 
being  printed  in  Edinburgh,  while  the  Editor  resided  in 
London. 

In  conclusion,  the  Editor  hopes  these  sketches  may  not 
unfrequently  have  succeeded  in  reaching  the  reader's  heart, 
and  pointing  public  attention  to  those  pregnant  scenes  of 
interest  and  instruction  which  fall  under  the  constant 
observation  of  the  medical  profession. 

LoNDOM,  February  3, 1832. 


INTRODUCTION. 


It  is  somewhat  strange,  that  a  class  of  men  who  can  command 
such  interesting,  extensive,  and  instructive  materials,  as  the 
experience  of  most  members  of  the  medical  profession  teems 
with,  should  have  hitherto  made  so  few  contributions  to  the  stock 
of  polite  and  popular  literature.  The  Bar,  the  Church,  the 
Army,  the  Navy,  and  the  Stage,  have  all  of  them  spread  the 
volumes  of  their  secret  history  before  the  prying  gaze  of  the 
public ;  while  that  of  the  medical  pkofession  has  remained 
hitherto,  with  scarcely  an  exception,  a  sealed  book.  And  yet 
there  are  no  members  of  society  whose  pursuits  lead  them  to 
listen  more  frequently  to  what  has  been  exquisitely  termed. 

The  still,  sad  music  of  humanity. 

What  instances  of  noble,  though  unostentatious  heroism — of 
calm  and  patient  fortitude,  under  the  most  intolerable  anguish 
that  can  wring  and  torture  these  poor  bodies  of  ours;  what 
appalling  combinations  of  moral  and  physical  wretchedness,  lay- 
ing prostrate  the  proudest  energies  of  humanity ;  what  diversi- 


xnu  INTRODUCTION. 

fied  manifestations  of  character;  what  singular  and  touching 
passages  of  domestic  history,  must  have  come  under  the  notice 
of  the  intelh'gent  practitioner  of  physic  ! — And  are  none  of  these 
calculated  to  furnish  both  instruction  and  entertainment  to  the 
public  ?  Why  are  we  to  be  for  ever  shut  out  from  these  avenues 
to  the  most  secret  and  profound  knowledge  of  human  nature? 
Till  the  attempt  was  made,  in  the  publication  of  this  Diary,  who 
has  sunk  a  shaft  into  so  rich  a  mine  of  incident  and  sentiment  ? 
Considerations  such  as  these  have  led  to  the  publication  of 
this  work,  reprinted  from  the  pages  of  Blackwood's  Magazine 
— a  periodical  which  was  the  first  to  present  similar  papers  to 
the  public.  Whether  the  Writer  or  Subject  of  them  is  dead  or 
alive,  can  be  a  matter  of  very  little  consequence^  it  is  apprehended, 
to  the  reader ;  and  no  information,  therefore,  on  that  point,  is 
requisite.  It  can  scarcely  be  necessary  to  say,  that  the  various 
names  which  have  been  pitched  upon,  in  the  papers,  as  those  of 
the  writers  of  this  Diary,  are  all  of  them  totally  erroneous,  and 
that  it  has,  in  particular,  no  claim  whatever  to  the  honourable 
names  of  "  Dr  Gooch,  Dr  Armstrong,  or  Dr  Baillie."  It  is 
respectfully  suggested,  that,  if  the  ensuing  pages  have  no  intrinsic 
claims  to  attention,  the  deficiency  cannot  be  supplied  by  the 
most  glittering  appendages  of  name  or  title.* 


•  I  liavo  not  often  known  of  a  piece  of  easier  assurance  than  that  of  the  French 
translator  of  these  papers,  who,  not  content  with  rendering  them  into  French, 
has  so  paraplirased  and  misrepresented  many  of  them,  and  especially  the  first, 
that  I  scarce  knew  them  myself.  He  calls  "  Early  Struggles,"  Le  Jeune  Dncteur  i 
and  I  am  made  to  say  at  the  commencement — 

"  Un  Docteur  d'  Edimbmrg  (!)  mort  recemment,  et  dont  je  doia  taire  le  nom, 
bien  que  cette  precaution necessaire  puisse  engager  mes  lecteurs  k  le  confondre 


INTRODUCTION.  XIX 

In  selecting  from  a  copious  store  of  sketches,  in  every  instance 
drawn  from  nature — warm  and  vivid  with  the  colouring  of  reality 
— all  possible  care  has  been  taken  to  avoid  undue  disclosures,  as 
far  as  that  end  could  be  obtained  by  the  most  scrupulous  con- 
cealment of  names,  dates,  and  places.  I  cannot  close  these 
introductory  remarks  better,  than  in  the  words  of  the  American 
Editor's  Preface  to  the  stereotyped  edition  : — 

"  These  scenes,  so  well  calculated  to  furnish  both  instruction 
and  amusement,  have  been,  hitherto,  kept  from  public  observa- 
tion, as  carefully  as  the  Eleusinian  mysteries  were  kept  from 
the  eyes  of  the  vulgar.  Access  is  occasionally  given  to  the 
deathbed  of  some  distinguished  character:  Addison  is  seen 
instructing  a  profligate  how  a  Christian  can  meet  death ;  and  Dr 
Young,  in  his  Deathbed  of  Altamont,  has  painted,  in  strong  and 
lasting  colours,  the  closing  scene  of  one  whose  career  too  nearly 
resembled  the  profligate  Warwick's.  But  those  in  the  humbler 
vralks  of  life  have  been  overlooked,  as  if  men  could  be  taught 
only  by  great  examples." 

aveo  ses  personnages  flctifs  dont  les  romanciers  sont  les  creatures — ce  Doctenr, 
dont  I'feducation  avait  ete  faite  i  Edimbourg,  fille  tout  studieuse,  et  dont  le 
talent  s'etait  developpe  iLondres,  aconsigne,  dansune  serie  de  memoranda,  (fui 
se  trouveut  entre  mes  mains,  les  observations  morales,  les  incidens,  les  earac- 
tJres,  les  tableaux  doraestiques,  dont  sa  longue  pratique  lui  4  fourni  les  mate- 
riaux.  Tout  est  reel  dans  ces  souvenirs ;  ils  ont  les  inconveniens  et  les  merites 
que  cette  realite  entraine,"  &c.—  Souvenir  d'un  Medecin,  I. 

The  French  reader  is  further  informed,  that  this  paper  appeared  in  The  Lite- 
vary  Gazette. 


DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 


CHAPTER  I. 


EARLY   STRUSGLES. 


*  *  *  Can  any  thing  be  conceived  more  dreary  and  dis- 
heartening, than  the  prospect  before  a  young  London  physician, 
who,  without  friends  or  fortune,  yet  with  high  aspirations  after 
professional  eminence,  is  striving  to  weave  around  him  what  is 
technically  called  "  a  connexion  ?  "  Such  was  my  case.  After 
having  exhausted  the  slender  finances  allotted  me  from  the  funds 
of  a  poor  but  somewhat  ambitious  family,  in  passing  through 
the  usual  routine  of  a  college  and  medical  education,  I  found 
myself,  about  my  twenty-sixth  year,  in  London — possessed  of 
about  £100  in  cash,  a  few  books,  a  tolerable  wardrobe,  an  inex- 
haustible fund  of  animal  spirits,  and  a  wife — a  lovely  young 
creature,  whom  I  had  been  absurd  enough,  some  weeks  before, 
to  marry,  merely  because  we  loved  each  other.  She  was  the  only 
daughter  of  a  very  worthy  fellow-townsman  of  mine,  a  widower; 
whose  fortunes,  alas !  had  decayed  long  before  their  possessor. 
Emily  was  the  glory  of  his  age,  and  need  I  add,  the  pride  of  my 
youth ;  and  after  having  assiduously  attended  her  father  through 
his  last  illness,  the  sole  and  rich  return  was  his  daughter's  heart. 

I  must  own,  that,  when  we  found  ourselves  fairly  housed  in 
the  mighty  metropolis,  with  so  poor  an  exchequer,  and  the 
means  of  replenishing  it  so  remote  and  contingent,  we  were 
somewhat  startled  at  the  boldness  of  the  step  we  had  taken. 
"Nothing  venture,  nothing  have,"  however,  was  my  maxim; 
and  I  felt  supported  by  that  unaccountable  conviction  which 


4  DIARY  or  A  LATE  rHTSICIAN. 

clings  to  all  in  such  circumstances  as  mine,  up  to  the  very 
pinching  moment,  but  no  longer,  that  there  must  be  thousands 
of  ways  of  getting  a  livelihood,  to  which  one  can  turn  at  a 
moment's  warning.  And  then  the  swelling  thought  of  being 
the  architect  of  one's  own  fortune!  As,  however,  daily  drafts 
began  to  diminish  my  £100,  my  spirits  faltered  a  little.  I  dis- 
covered that  I  might  indeed,  as  well 

Lie  pack'd  in  mine  own  grave, 
as  continue  in  London  without  money,  or  the  means  of  getting 
it;  and  after  revolving  endless  schemes,  the  only  conceivable 
mode  of  doing  so  seemed  calling  in  the  generous  assistance  of 
the  Jews.  My  father  had  fortunately  effected  a  policy  on  my 
hfe  for  £5000,  at  an  early  period,  on  which  some  fourteen  pre- 
miums had  been  paid ;  and  this  available  security,  added  to  the 
powerful  influence  of  a  young  nobleman  to  whom  I  had  rendered 
some  service  at  college,  enabled  me  to  succeed  in  wringing  a 

loan,  from  old  Amos  L ,  of  £3000,  at  the  trifling  interest  of 

fifteen  per  cent,  payable  by  way  of  redeemable  annuity.  It  was 
with  fear  and  trembling  that  I  called  myself  master  of  this  large 
sum,  and  with  the  utmost  diffidence  that  I  could  bring  myself 
to  exercise  what  the  lawyers  would  call  acts  of  ownership  on  it. 
As,  however,  there  was  no  time  to  lose,  I  took  a  respectable 
house  in  C Street,  West* — furnislied  it  neatly  and  respect- 
ably— fortunately  enough  let  the  first  floor  to  a  rich  old  East 

India  bachelor — beheld  "  Dr "  glisten  conspicuously  on 

my  door  f — and  then  dropped  my  little  hue  into  the  great  water 
of  London,  resolved  to  abide  the  issue  with  patience. 

Blessed  with  buoyant  and  sanguine  spirits,  I  did  not  lay  it 
much  to  heart,  that  my  only  occupation  during  the  first  sis 
months,  was — abroad,  to  practise  the  pardonable  solecism  of 
hurrying  haud passibus  cequis  through  the  streets,  as  if  in  attend- 
ance on  numerous  patients ;  and  at  home,  to  ponder  pleasantlv 
over  my  books,   and  enjoy  the  company  of  my  cheerful  and 

*  "  On  sait  que  la  partie  Est  de  Londres  est  r^servee  aux  gens  de  commerce* 
et  quo  rOuest  de  la  m6me  ville  est  habitepar  raristocratle." — Note  oftheFrenih 
Translator. 

t  "  Ces  plaques  de  cuitre,  portant  le  nom  d"u  propriStaire,  ou  du  principal 
locataire,  se  trouvent  sur  toutus  les  portes." — lb. 


CHAPTER  I. EAKL,Y  STRUGGLES.  5 

affectionate  wife.  But  when  I  had  numbered  twelve  months, 
ahuost  without  feeling  a  pulse  or  receiving  a  fee,  and  was 

reminded  by  old  L ,  that  the  second  half-yearly  instalment 

of  £225  was  due,  I  began  to  look  forward  with  some  apprehen- 
sion to  the  overcast  future.  Of  the  £3000,  for  the  use  of  which 
I  was  paying  so  cruel  and  exorbitant  a  premium,  little  more 
than  half  remained — and  this,  notwithstanding  we  had  practised 
the  most  rigid  economy  in  our  household  expenditure,  and 
devoted  as  little  to  dress  as  was  compatible  with  maintaining  a 
respectable  exterior.    To  my  sorrow,  I  found  myself  unavoidably 

contracting  debts,  which,  with  the  interest  due  to  old  L ,  1 

found  it  would  be  impossible  to  discharge.  If  matters  went  on 
as  they  seemed  to  threaten,  what  was  to  become  of  me  in  a  year 
or  two  ?     Putting  every  thing  else  out  of  the  question,  where 

was  I  to  find  funds  to  meet  old  L 's  annual  demand  of  £450? 

Relying  on  my  prospects  of  professional  success,  I  had  bound 
myself  to  return  the  £3000  within  five  years  of  the  time  of 
borrowing  it ;  and  now  I  thought  I  must  have  been  mad  to  do 
so.  If  my  profession  failed  me,  I  had  nothing  else  to  look  to. 
I  had  no  family  resources — for  my  father  had  died  since  I  came 
to  London,  very  much  embarrassed  in  his  circumstances ;  and 
my  mother,  who  was  aged  and  infirm,  had  gone  to  reside  with 
some  relatives,  who  were  few  and  poor.  My  wife,  as  I  have 
stated,  was  in  like  plight.  I  do  not  think  she  had  a  relative  in 
England,  (for  her  father  and  all  his  family  were  Germans,) 
except 

■ him,  whose  brightest  joy 

Was,  that  he  called  her — wife. 

Lord ,  the  nobleman  before  mentioned,  who,  I  am  sure, 

would  have  rejoiced  in  assisting  me,  either  by  pecuniary  advances 
or  professional  introductions,  had  been  on  the  continent  ever 
since  I  commenced  practice.  Being  of  studious  habits,  and  a 
very  bashful  and  reserved  disposition  while  at  Cambridge,  I 
could  number  but  few  college  friends,  none  of  whom  I  knew 
where  to  find  in  London.  Neither  my  wife  nor  I  knew  more 
than  five  people,  besides  our  Indian  lodger ;  for,  to  tell  the 
truth,  we  were,  like  many  a  fond  and  foolish  couple  before 
us,  all  the  world  to  one  another,  and  cared  little  for  scraping 


b  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

together  promiscuous  acquaintance.  If  we  had  even  been  in- 
clined to  visiting,  our  straitened  circumstances  would  have  forbid 
our  incurring  the  expenses  attached  to  it.  What  then  was  to  be 
done  ?  My  wife  would  say,  "  Poh,  love,  we  shall  contrive  to  get 
on  as  well  as  our  neighbours;"  but  the  simple  fact  was,  we 
were  not  getting  on  like  our  neighbours,  nor  did  I  see  any  pro- 
spect of  our  ever  doing  so.  I  began,  therefore,  to  pass  sleepless 
nights,  and  days  of  despondency,  casting  about  in  every  direction 
for  any  employment  consistent  with  my  profession,  and  redoub- 
ling my  fruitless  efforts  to  obtain  practice. 

It  is  almost  laughable  to  say,  that  our  only  receipts  were  a 
few  paltry  guineas,  sent,  at  long  intervals,  from  old  Mr  Asperne, 
the  proprietor  of  the  European  Magazine,  as  remuneration  for  a 
sort  of  monthly  medical  summary  with  which  I  furnished  him, 
and  a  trifle  or  two  from  Mr  Nicholls  of  the  Gentleman's  Maga- 
zine, as  an  acknowledgment  for  several  sweet  sonnets  sent  by 
my  wife. 

Knowing  the  success  which  often  attended  professional  author- 
ship, as  tending  to  acquire  for  the  writer  a  reputation  for  skill 
on  the  subject  of  which  he  treated,  and  introduce  him  to  the 
notice  of  the  higher  members  of  his  own  profession,  I  deter- 
mined to  turn  my  attention  that  way.  For  several  months  I 
was  up  early  and  late  at  a  work  on  Diseases  of  the  Lungs.  I 
bestowed  incredible  pains  on  it ;  and  my  toil  was  sweetened  by 
my  wife,  who  would  sit  by  me,  in  the  long  summer  evenings, 
like  an  angel,  consoling  and  encouraging  me  with  predictions  of 
success.  She  lightened  my  labour  by  undertaking  the  trans- 
cription of  the  manuscript;  and  I  thought  that  two  or  three 
hundred  sheets  of  fair  and  regular  handwriting  were  heavily 
purchased  by  the  impaired  eyesight  of  the  beloved  amanuensis. 
When  at  length  it  was  completed,  having  been  read  and  revised 
twenty  times,  so  that  there  was  not  a  comma  wanting,  I  hurried, 
full  of  fluttering  hopes  and  fears,  to  a  well-known  medical  book- 
seller, expecting  he  would  at  once  pilrchase  the  copyright.  Fifty 
pounds  I  had  fixed  in  my  own  mind  as  the  minimum  of  what  I 
would  accept ;  and  I  had  already  appropriated  some  little  part ' 
of  it  towards  buying  a  handsome  silk  dress  for  my  wife.  Alas ! 
even  in  this  branch  of  my  profession,  my  hopes  were  doomed 


EARLT  STRCGGLES. — CHAPTER  r.  7 

to  meet  with  disappointment.  The  bookseller  received  me  with 
great  civility ;  listened  to  every  word  I  had  to  say ;  seemed  to 
take  some  interest  in  my  new  views  of  the  disease  treated  of, 
which  I  explained  to  him,  and  repeated — and  ventured  to  assure 
him,  that  they  would  certainly  attract  public  attention.  My 
heart  leaped  for  joy  as  I  saw  his  business-like  eye  settled  upon 
me  with  an  expression  of  attentive  interest.  After  having  almost 
talked  myself  hoarse,  and  flushed  myself  all  over  with  excite- 
ment, he  removed  his  spectacles,  and  politely  assured  me  of  hia 
approbation  of  the  work ;  but  that  he  had  determined  never  to 
publish  any  more  medical  books  on  his  own  account.  I  have 
the  most  vivid  recollection  of  almost  turning  sick  with  chagrin. 
With  a  faltering  voice  I  asked  him  if  that  was  his  unalterable 
determination  ?  He  replied,  it  was ;  for  he  had  "  lost  too  mucli 
by  speculations  of  that  sort."  I  tied  up  the  manuscript,  and 
withdrew.  As  soon  as  I  left  his  shop,  I  let  fall  a  scorching  tear 
of  mingled  sorrow  and  mortification.  I  could  almost  have  wept 
aloud.  At  that  moment,  whom  should  I  meet  but  my  dear  wife! 
for  we  had  both  been  talking  all  night  long,  and  all  breakfast 
time,  about  the  probable  result  of  my  interview  with  the  book- 
seller ;  and  her  anxious  affection  would  not  permit  her  to  wait 
my  return.  She  had  been  pacing  to  and  fro  on  the  other  side  of 
the  street,  and  flew  to  me  on  my  leaving  the  shop.  I  could  not 
speak  to  her;  I  felt  almost  choked.  At  last  her  continued 
expressions  of  tenderness  and  sympathy  soothed  me  into  a  more 
equable  frame  of  mind,  and  we  returned  to  dinner.  In  the 
afternoon,  I  offered  it  to  another  bookseller,  who,  John  Trot 
like,  told  me  at  once  he  "  never  did  that  sort  of  thing."  I  offered 
it  subsequently  to  every  medical  bookseller  I  could  find — with 
like  success.  One  fat  fellow  snufiled  out,  "  If  he  might  make  so 
bold,"  he  would  advise  me  to  leave  off  book-making,  and  stick 
to  my  practice;  another  assured  me  he  had  got  two  similar 
works  then  in  the  press ;  and  the  last  I  consulted,  told  me  I  was 
too  young,  he  thought,  to  have  seen  enough  of  practice  for 
writing  "  a  book  of  that  nature,"  as  his  words  were.  "  Publish 
it  on  your  own  account,  love,"  said  my  wife.  That,  however, 
was  out  of  the  question,  whatever  might  be  the  merits  of  the 
work — for  I  had  no  funds:  and  a  kind-hearted  bookseller,  to 


DIAET  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 


whom  I  mentioned  the  project,  assured  me  that,  if  I  went  to 
press,  my  work  would  fall  from  it  still-born.  When  I  returned 
home  from  making  this  last  attempt,  I  flung  myself  into  a  chair 
by  the  fireside,  opposite  my  wife,  without  speaking.  There 
was  an  anxious  smile  of  sweet  solicitude  in  her  face.  My 
agitated  and  mortified  air  convinced  her  that  I  was  finally  dis- 
appointed, and  that  six  months'  hard  labour  were  thrown  away. 
In  a  fit  of  uncontrollable  pique  and  passion,  I  flung  the  manu- 
script on  the  fire;  but  Emily  suddenly  snatched  it  from  the 
flames,  gazed  on  me  with  a  look  such  as  none  but  a  fond  and 
devoted  wife  could  give — threw  her  arms  round  my  neck,  and 
kissed  me  back  to  calmness,  if  not  happiness.  I  laid  the  manu- 
script in  question  on  a  shelf  in  my  study ;  and  it  was  my  first 
and  last  attempt  at  medical  book-making. 

From  what  cause,  or  combination  of  causes,  I  know  not,  but 
I  seemed  marked  out  for  failure  in  my  profession.  Though 
my  name  shone  on  my  door,  and  the  respectable  neighbourhood 
could  not  but  have  noticed  the  regularity  and  decorum  of  my 
habits  and  manners,  yet  none  ever  thought  of  calling  me  in ! 
Had  I  been  able  to  exhibit  a  line  of  carriages  at  my  door,  or 
open  my  house  for  the  reception  of  company,  or  dash  about 
town  in  an  elegant  equipage,  or  be  seen  at  the  opera  and 
theatres — had  I  been  able  to  do  this,  the  case  might  have  been 
different.  In  candour  I  must  acknowledge,  that  another  pro- 
bable cause  of  my  ill  success  was  a  somewhat  insignificant  person, 
and  unprepossessing  countenance.  I  could  not  wear  such  an 
eternal  smirk  of  conceited  complacency,  or  keep  my  head  per- 
petually bowing,  mandarin-like,  as  many  of  my  professional 
brothers.  Still  there  were  thousands  to  whom  these  deficiencies 
proved  no  serious  obstacles.  The  great  misfortune  in  my  case 
was,  undoubtedly,  the  want  of  introductions.  There  was  a  man 
of  considerable  rank  and  great  wealth,  who  was  a  sort  of  fiftieth 
cousin  of  mine,  resided  in  one  of  the  fashionable  squares  not  far 
from  me,  and  on  whom  I  had  called  to  claim  kindred,  and  solicit 
his  patronage  ;  but  after  having  sent  up  my  name  and  address 
I  was  suffered  to  wait  so  long  in  an  anteroom,  that,  what  with 
this  and  the  noise  of  servants  bustUng  past  with  insolent  fami- 
liarity, I  quite  forgot  the   relationship,   and  left   the  house 


CHAPTER  I. ^EAKLT  STRUGGLES.  9 

wondering  what  had  brought  me  there.  I  never  felt  inclined 
to  go  near  it  again ;  so  there  -was  an  end  of  all  prospects  of 
introduction  from  that  quarter.  I  was  left,  therefore,  to  rely 
exclusively  on  my  own  eiforts,  and  trust  to  chance  for  patients. 
It  is  true  that,  in  the  time  I  have  mentioned,  I  was  twice  called 
iu  at  an  instant's  warning ;  but,  in  both  cases,  the  objects  of  my 
visits  had  expired  before  my  arrival,  probably  before  a  messen- 
ger could  be  dispatched  for  me  ;  and  the  manner  in  which  my 
fees  were  proffered,  convinced  me  that  I  should  be  cursed  for  a 
mercenary  wretch  if  I  accepted  them.  I  was  therefore  induced, 
in  each  case,  to  decline  the  guinea,  though  it  would  have  pur- 
chased me  a  week's  happiness  !  I  was  also,  on  several  occasions, 
called  in  to  visit  the  inferior  members  of  families  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood— servants,  housekeepers,  porters,  &c. ;  and  of  all  the 
trying,  the  mortifying  occurrences  in  the  life  of  a  young  phy- 
sician, such  occasions  as  these  are  the  most  irritating.  You  go 
to  the  house — a  large  one  probably — and  are  instructed  not  to 
knock  at  the  front  door,  but  to  go  down  by  the  area  to  your 
patient ! 

I  think  it  was  about  this  time  that  I  was  summoned  in  haste 
to  young  Sir  Charles  F ,  who  resided  near  Mayfair.  De- 
lighted at  the  prospect  of  securing  so  distinguished  a  patient,  I 
hurried  to  his  house,  resolved  to  do  my  utmost  to  give  satisfac- 
tion. When  I  entered  the  room,  I  found  the  sprig  of  fashion 
enveloped  in  a  crimson  silk  dressing-gown,  sitting  conceitedly 
on  the  sofa,  and  sipping  a  cup  of  coffee ;  from  which  he  desisted 
a  moment  to  examine  me — positively— through  his  eye-glass, 
and  then  directed  rae  to  inspect  the  swelled  foot  of  a  favourite 
pointer !  Darting  a  look  of  anger  at  the  insulting  coxcomb,  I 
instantly  withdrew  without  uttering  a  word.  Five  years  after- 
wards did  that  young  man  make  use  of  the  most  strenuous 
efforts  to  oust  me  from  the  confidence  of  a  family  of  distinction, 
to  which  he  was  distantly  related.* 

•  Tills  anecdote  calls  to  my  mind  one  told  me  by  the  late  Dr  James  HamUton. 

He  was  sent  for  once  in  great  haste  by  Lady  P ,  to  see — absolutely  a    little 

faTourite  monkey,  which  was  almost  suffocated  with  its  morning  feed.  When 
the  doctor  entered  the  room,  he  saw  only  her  ladyship,  her  young  son  (a  lad  of 
teti  years  old,  who  was  most  absurdly  dressed),  and  his  patient.  Looking  at 
each  of  the  two  latter,  he  said  coolly  to  Lady  1" ,  "  My  lady,  which  is  the 


10  DIARY  OF  A  LA.TE  PHYSICIAN. 

A  more  gratifying  incident  occurred  shortly  afterwards.     I 
had  the  misfortune  to  be  called,  on  a  sudden  emergency,  into 

consultation  with  the  late  celebrated  Dr .     It  was  the  first 

consultational  visit  that  I  had  ever  paid ;  and  I  was,  of  course, 
very  anxious  to  acquit  myself  creditably.  Shall  I  ever  forget  the 
air  of  insolent  condescension  with  which  he  received  me  ;  or  the 
remark  he  made  in  the  presence  of  several  individuals,  profes- 
sional as  well  as  unprofessional  ? — "  I  assure  you,  Dr , 

there  is  really  some  difference  between  apoplexy  and  epilepsy,  at 
least  there  was  when  I  was  a  young  man  ! "  He  accompanied 
these  words  with  a  look  of  supercilious  commiseration,  directed 
to  the  lady  whose  husband  was  our  patient;  and  I  need  not  add, 
that  my  future  services  were  dispensed  with !  My  heart  ached  to 
think  that  such  a  fellow  as  this  should  have  it  in  his  power  to 
take,  as  it  were,  the  bread  out  of  the  mouth  of  an  unpretending 
and  almost  spirit-broken  professional  brother ;  but  I  had  no 
remedy.  I  am  happy  to  have  it  in  my  power  to  say  how  much 
the  tone  of  consulting  physicians  is  now  (1820)  lowered  towards 
their  brethren  who  may  happen  to  be  of  a  few  years'  less  stand- 
ing, and,  consequently,  less  firmly  fixed  in  the  confidence  of  their 
patients.  It  was  by  a  few  similar  incidents  to  those  above  related, 
that  my  spirit  began  to  be  soured  ;  and  had  it  not  been  for  the 
unvarying  sweetness  and  cheerfulness  of  my  incomparable  wife, 
existence  would  not  have  been  tolerable.  My  professional  efibrts 
were  paralysed  ;  failure  attended  every  attempt ;  my  ruin  seemed 
sealed.  My  resources  were  rapidly  melting  away — my  expen- 
diture, moderate  as  it  was,  was  counterbalanced  by  no  incom- 
ings.    A  prison  and  starvation  scowled  before  me. 

Despairing  of  finding  any  better  source  of  emolument,  I  was 
induced  to  send  an  advertisement  to  one  of  the  daily  papers, 
stating,  that  "  a  graduate  of  Cambridge  University,  having  a 
little  spare  time  at  his  disposal,  was  willing  to  give  private 
instructions  in  the  classics,  in  the  evenings,  to  gentlemen  pre- 
paring for  college,  or  to  others  ! "  After  about  a  week's  interval, 
I  received  one  solitary  communication.     It  was  from  a  young 

monkey?  " — [I  am  made  to  say  in  French,  "  '  Madame,"  dit-U,  '  Messieurs  vos 
lils  n'ont  qu'a  faire  di^te  et  i  boire  du  th^.'  11  s'en  alia  aussitCt."  And  farther 
'.he  name  of  Abernethy  is  coolly  substituted  for  that  of  Dr  Hamilton  I  ] 


CHAPTER  I. EARLY  STRUGGLES.  11 

man  holding  some  subordinate  situation  under  government,  and 
residing  at  Pimlico.  Tiiis  person  offered  me  two  guineas  a-month, 
if  I  would  attend  him  at  Ms  own  house,  for  two  hours,  on  the 
evenings  of  Monday,  Wednesday,  and  Friday !  With  these  hard 
terms  was  I  obliged  to  comply — yes,  a  gentleman,  and  a  member 
of  an  English  university,  was  driven  so  low  as  to  attend,  for 
these  terms,  an  ignorant  underling,  and  endeavour  to  instil  a 
few  drops  of  classic  lore  into  the  turbid  and  shallow  waters  of 
his  understanding.  I  had  hardly  given  him  a  month's  attend- 
ance before  he  assured  me,  with  a  flippant  air,  that,  as  he  had 
now  acquired  "  a  practical  knowledge  of  the  classics,"  he  would 
dispense  with  my  further  services  !  Dull  dunce  !  he  could  not, 
in  Latin,  be  brought  to  comprehend  the  difference  between  a 
neuter  and  an  active  verb ;  while,  as  for  Greek,  it  was  an  abso- 
lute chokepear ;  so  he  nibbled  on  to  ti/j,^ — and  then  gave  it  up. 
Bitter  but  unavailing  were  my  regrets,  as  I  returned  from  paying 
my  last  visit  to  this  promising  scholar,  that  I  had  not  entered 
the  army,  and  gone  to  America,  or  even  betaken  myself  to  some 
subordinate  commercial  situation.  A  thousand  and  a  thou- 
sand times  did  I  curse  the  ambition  which  brought  me  up  to 
London,  and  the  egregious  vanity  which  led  me  to  rely  so  impli- 
citly on  my  talents  for  success.  Had  I  but  been  content  with 
the  humbler  sphere  of  a  general  practitioner,  I  might  have  laid 
out  my  dearly-bought  £3000  with  a  reasonable  prospect  of  soon 
repaying  it,  and  acquiring  a  respectable  livelihood.  But  all  these 
sober  thoughts,  as  is  usual,  came  only  time  enough  to  enhance 
the  mortification  of  failure. 

***** 

About  £300  was  now  the  miserable  remnant  of  the  money 
borrowed  from  the  Jew;  and  half  a  year's  interest  (£225), 
together  with  my  rent,  was  due  in  about  a  fortnight's  time.  I 
was,  besides,  indebted  to  many  tradesmen — who  were  becoming 
every  day  more  querulous— for  articles  of  food,  clothing,  and 
furniture.  My  poor  Emily  was  in  daily  expectation  of  her 
accouchement ;  and  my  own  health  was  sensibly  sinking,  under 
the  combined  pressure  of  anxiety  and  excessive  parsimony. 
What  was  to  be  done  ?  Despair  was  clinging  to  me,  and  shed- 
ding blight  and  mildew  over  all  my  faculties.     Every  avenue  was 


12  BIART  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

closed  against  me.  I  never  knew  what  it  was  to  have  more  than 
one  or  two  hours'  sleep  at  night,  and  that  so  heavy,  so  troubled, 
and  interrujjted,  that  I  awoke  each  morning  more  dead  than 
alive.  I  lay  tossing  in  bed,  revolving  all  conceivable  schemes 
and  fancies  in  my  tortured  brain,  till  at  length,  from  mere  itera- 
tion, they  began  to  assume  a  feasible  aspect;  alas!  however,  they 
would  none  of  them  bear  the  blush  of  daylight,  but  faded  away 
as  extravagant  and  absurd.  I  would  endeavour  to  set  afloat  a 
popular  Medical  Journal — to  give  lectures  on  diseases  of  the 
lungs — (a  department  with  which  I  was  familiar) — I  would 
advertise  for  a  small  medical  partnership,  as  a  general  practi- 
tioner— I  would  do  a  thousand  things  of  the  sort;  but  where 
was  my  capital  to  set  out  with?  I  had  ^3C0  in  the  world,  and 
£450  yearly  to  pay  to  an  extortionating  oM  miser:  that  was  the 
simple  fact;  and  it  almost  drove  me  to  despair  to  advert  to  it  for 
one  instant.  Wretched,  however,  as  I  was,  and  almost  every 
instant  loathing  my  existence,  the  idea  of  suicide  was  never 
entertained  for  a  moment.  If  the  fiend  would  occasionally  flit 
across  the  dreary  chamber  of  my  heart,  a  strong  and  unceasing 
confidence  in  the  goodness  and  power  of  my  Maker  always 
repelled  the  fearful  visitant.  Even  yet,  rapidly  as  I  seemed 
approaching  the  precipice  of  ruin,  I  could  not  avoid  cherishing 
a  feeble  hope  that  some  unexpected  avenue  would  open  to  better 
fortune ;  and  the  thought  of  it  would,  for  a  time,  soothe  my 
troubled  breast,  and  nerve  it  to  bear  up  against  the  inroads  of 
my  present  misfortunes. 

I  recollect  sitting  down  one  day  in  St  James's  Park,  on  one 
of  the  benches,  weary  with  wandering  the  whole  morning  I  knew 
not  whither.  I  felt  faint  and  ill,  and  more  than  usually  depress- 
ed in  mind.  I  had  that  morning  paid  one  of  my  tradesmen's 
bills,  amounting  to  £10;  and  the  fellow  told  my  servant,  that, 
as  he  had  so  much  trouble  in  getting  his  money,  he  did  not  want 
the  honour  of  my  custom  any  longer.  The  thought  that  my 
credit  was  failing  in  the  neighbourhood  was  insupportable. 
Ruin  and  disgrace  would  then  be  accelerated  ;  and  being  unable 
to  meet  my  creditors,  I  should  be  proclaimed  little  less  than  a 
swindler,  and  shaken  like  a  viper  from  the  lap  of  society.  Fear- 
ful as  were  such  thoughts,  I  had  not  enough  of  energy  of  feeling 


CHAPTER  I. — EARLY  STRUGGLES.  13 

left  to  suffer  much  agitation  from  them.  I  folded  my  arms  on 
my  breast  in  sullen  apathy,  and  wished  only  that,  whatever 
might  be  my  fate,  certainty  might  be  substituted  for  suspense. 

While  indulging  in  thoughts  like  these,  a  glittering  troop  of 
soldiers  passed  by  me,  preceded  by  their  band,  playing  a  merry 
air.  How  the  sounds  jarred  on  the  broken  strings  of  my  heart ! 
And  many  a  bright  face,  dressed  in  smiles  of  gayety  and  happi- 
ness, thronged  past,  attracted  by  the  music,  little  thinking  of  the 
wretchedness  of  him  who  was  sitting  by !  I  could  not  prevent 
the  tears  of  anguish  from  gushing  forth.  I  thought  of  Emily — 
of  her  delicate  and  interesting,  but,  to  me,  melancholy  situation. 
I  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  returning  home,  to  encounter 
her  affectionate  looks — her  meek  and  gentle  resignation  to  her 
bitter  fortunes.  Why  had  I  married  her,  without  first  having 
considered  whether  I  could  support  her  ?  Passionately  fond  of 
me,  as  I  well  knew  she  was,  could  she  avoid  frequently  recur- 
ring to  the  days  of  our  courtship,  when  I  reiteratedly  assured  her 
of  my  certainty  of  professional  success  as  soon  as  I  could  get 
settled  in  London  ?  Where  now  were  all  the  fair  and  flourish- 
ing scenes  to  which  my  childish  enthusiasm  had  taught  me  to 
look  forward?  Would  not  the  bitter  contrast  she  was  now  ex- 
periencing, and  seemed  doomed  long  yet  to  experience,  ahenate 
from  me  a  portion  of  her  affections,  and  induce  feelings  of  anger 
and  contempt?  Could  I  blame  her  for  all  this?  If  the  goodly 
superstructure  of  my  fortunes  fell,  was  it  not  I  that  had  loosened 
and  destroyed  the  foundation? — Reflections  like  these  were 
harassing  and  scourging  me,  when  an  elderly  gentleman,  evi- 
dently an  invaUd,  tottered  slowly  to  the  bench  where  I  was 
sitting,  and  sat  down  beside  me.  He  seemed  a  man  of  wealth 
and  consideration :  for  his  servant,  on  whose  arm  he  had  been 
leaning,  and  who  now  stood  behind  the  bench  on  which  he  was 
sitting,  wore  a  very  elegant  livery.  He  was  almost  shaken  to 
pieces  by  an  asthmatic  cough,  and  was,  besides,  suffering  from 
another  severe  disorder,  which  need  not  be  more  particularly 
named.  He  looked  at  me  once  or  twice,  in  a  manner  which 
seemed  to  say,  that  he  would  not  take  it  rudely  if  I  addressed 
him.  I  did  so.  "  I  am  afraid,  sir,"  I  said,  "  you  are  in  great 
pain  from  that  cough?" — "Yes,"  he  gasped  faintly;   "and  I 


14:  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

don't  know  how  to  get  rid  of  it.  I  am  an  old  man,  you  see,  sir; 
and  methinks  my  summons  to  the  grave  might  have  been  less 
loud  and  painful."  After  a  little  pause,  I  ventured  to  ask  him 
how  long  he  had  been  subject  to  the  cough  which  now  harassed 
him  ?  He  said,  more  or  less,  for  the  last  ten  years ;  but  that, 
latterly,  it  had  increased  so  much  upon  him,  that  he  could  not 
derive  any  benefit  from  medical  advice.  "  I  should  think,  sir, 
the  more  violent  symptoms  of  your  disorder  might  be  mitigated," 
said  I,  and  proceeded  to  question  him  minutely,  but  hesitatingly, 
as  to  the  origin  and  progress  of  the  complaints  which  now 
afflicted  him.  He  answered  all  my  questions  with  civility;  and, 
as  I  went  on,  seemed  to  be  roused  into  something  like  curiosity 
and  interest.  I  need  not  say  more,  than  that  I  discovered  he 
had  not  been  in  the  hands  of  a  skilful  practitioner;  and  that  I 
assured  him  very  few  and  simple  means  would  give  him  great 
relief  from  at  least  the  more  violent  symptoms.  He,  of  course, 
perceived  I  was  in  the  medical  profession ;  and,  after  some  appa- 
rent hesitation,  evidently  as  to  whether  or  not  I  should  feel  hurt, 
tendered  me  a  guinea.  I  refused  it  promptly  and  decidedly,  and 
assured  him  that  he  was  quite  welcome  to  the  very  trifling 
advice  I  had  rendered  him.  At  that  moment,  a  young  man  of 
fashionable  appearance  walked  up,  and  told  him  their  carriage 
was  waiting  at  the  corner  of  the  stable-yard.  This  last  gentle- 
man, who  seemed  to  be  either  the  son  or  nephew  of  tl^p  old 
gentleman,  eyed  me,  I  thought,  with  a  certain  superciliousness, 
which  was  not  lessened  when  the  invalid  told  him  I  had  given 
him  some  excellent  advice,  for  which  he  could  not  prevail  on 
me  to  receive  a  fee.  "We  are  vastly  obhged  to  you,  sir;  but 
are  going  home  to  the  family  physician,"  said  the  young  man, 
haughtily;  and,  placing  the  invalid's  arm  in  his,  led  him  slowly 
away.  He  was  addressed  several  times  by  the  servant  as  ''Sir" 
something,  Wilton  or  William,  I  think;  but  I  could  not  dis- 
tinctly catch  it,  so  that  it  was  evidently  a  person  of  some  rank 
I  had  been  addressing.  How  many  there  are,  thought  I,  that, 
with  a  more  plausible  and  insinuating  address  than  mine  is, 
would  have  contrived  to  get  into  the  confidence  of  this  gentle- 
man, and  become  his  medical  attendant!  How  foohsh  was  I 
not  to  give  him  my  card  when  he  proffered  me  a  fee,  and  thus, 


EARLY  STRUGGLES. — CHAPTER  I.  15 

in  all  probability,  be  sent  for  the  next  morning  to  pay  a  regular 
professional  visit !  and  to  what  lucrative  introductions  might  not 
that  have  led  1  A  thousand  times  I  cursed  my  diffidence — my 
sensitiveness  as  to  professional  etiquette — and  my  inability  to 
seize  the  advantages  occasionally  offered  by  a  fortunate  conjunc- 
ture" of  circumstances.  I  was  fitter,  I  thought,  for  La  Trappe 
than  the  bustling  world  of  business.  I  deserved  my  ill  fortune; 
and  professional  failure  was  the  natural  consequence  of  the 
mauvaise  honte  which  has  injured  so  many.  As  the  day,  how- 
ever, was  far  advancing,  I  left  the  seat,  and  turned  my  steps 
towards  my  cheerless  home. 

As  was  generally  the  case,  I  found  Emily  busily  engaged  in 
painting  little  fire-screens,  and  other  ornamental  toys,  which, 
when  completed,  I  was  in  the  habit  of  carrying  to  a  kind  of 
private  bazar  in  Oxford  Street,  where  I  was  not  known,  and 
where,  with  an  aching  heart,  I  disposed  of  the  delicate  and 
beautiful  productions  of  my  poor  wife,  for  a  trifle  hardly  worth 
taking  home.  Could  any  man,  pretending  to  the  slightest  feel- 
ing, contemplate  his  young  wife,  far  advanced  in  pregnancy,  in 
a  critical  state  of  health,  and  requiring  air,  exercise,  and  cheerful 
company,  toiling,  in  the  manner  I  have  related,  from  morning 
to  night,  and  for  a  miserably  inadequate  remuneration  ?  She 
submitted,  however,  to  our  misfortunes,  with  infinitely  more 
firmness  and  equanimity  than  I  could  pretend  to ;  and  her  uni- 
form cheerfulness  of  demeanour,  together  with  the  passionate 
fervour  of  her  fondness  for  me,  contributed  to  fling  a  few  rays  of 
trembling  and  evanescent  lustre  over  the  gloomy  prospects  of 
the  future.  Still,  however,  the  dreadful  question  incessantly  pre- 
sented itself — What,  in  Heaven's  name,  is  to  become  of  us  ?  I 
cannot  say  that  we  were  at  this  time  in  absolute,  literal  want ; 
though  our  parsimonious  fare  hardly  deserved  the  name  of  food, 
especially  such  as  my  wife's  delicate  situation  required.  It  was 
the  hopelessness  of  all  prospective  resources  that  kept  us  in  per- 
petual thraldom.  With  infinite  effort  we  might  contrive  to  hold 
on  to  a  given  period — say,  till  the  next  half-yearly  demand  of 

;    old  L ;  and  then  we  must  sink  altogether,  unless  a  miracle 

J    intervened  to  save  us.    Had  I  been  alone  in  the  world,  I  might 
II    have  braved  the  worst,  have  turned  my  hand  to  a  thousand 


16  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

things,  have  accommodated  myself  to  almost  any  circumstances, 
and  borne  the  extremest  privations  with  fortitude.  But  my 
darling  —  my  meek,  smiHng,  gentle  Emily! — my  heart  bled 
for  her. 

Not  to  leave  any  stone  unturned,  seeing  an  advertisement 
addressed,  "  To  inc-dioal  men,"  I  applied  for  the  situation  of 
assistant  to  a  general  practitioner,  though  I  had  but  little  skill 
in  the  practical  part  of  compounding  medicines.  I  applied 
personally  to  the  advertiser,  a  fat,  red-faced,  vulgar  fellow,  who 
had  contrived  to  gain  a  very  large  practice,  by  what  means  God 
only  knows.  His  terms  were — and  these  named  in  the  most 
offensive  contemptuousness  of  manner — £80  a-year,  board  and 
lodge  out,  and  give  all  my  time  in  the  day  to  my  employer ! 
Absurd  as  was  the  idea  of  acceding  to  terms  like  these,  I 
thought  I  might  still  consider  them.  I  pressed  hard  for  £100 
a-year,  and  told  him  I  was  married 

"  Married ! "  said  he,  with  a  loud  laugh ;  "  No,  no,  sir,  you 
are  not  the  man  for  my  money;  so  I  wish  you  good  morning."* 

Thus  was  I  baflBed  in  every  attempt  to  obtain  a  permanent 
source  of  support  from  my  profession.  It  brought  me  about 
£40  per  annum.  I  gained,  by  occasional  contributions  to  maga- 
zines, an  average  sum  annually  of  about  £25.  My  wife  earned 
about  that  sum  by  her  pencil.  And  these  were  all  the  funds 
I  had  to  meet  the  enormous  interest  due  half-yearly  to  old 

L ,  to  discharge  my  rent,  and  the  various  other  expenses 

of  housekeeping,  &c.  Might  I  not  well  despair  ?  I  did ;  and 
God's  goodness  only  preserved  me  from  the  frightful  calamity 
which  has  suddenly  terminated  the  earthly  miseries  of  thousands 
in  similar  circumstances. 

And  is  it  possible,  I  often  thought,  with  all  the  tormenting 
credulousness  of  a  man  half  stupified  with  his  misfortunes — is 
it  possible,  that,  in  the  very  heart  of  this  metropolis  of  splen- 
dour, wealth,  and  extravagance,  a  gentleman  and  a  scholar,  who 
has  laboured  long  in  the  honourable  toil  of  acquiring  profes- 
sional knowledge,  cannot  contrive  to  scrape  together  even  a 
competent  subsistence?    and  that,   too,   while   ignorance  and 

•  "  This  worthy  (a  Mr  C by  name)  lived  at  this  time  in  the  region  of  St 

George's  in  the  East. 


EARLT  STRUGGLES. CHAPTER  I.  17 

infamy  are  wallowing  in  wealth — while  charlatanry  and  quack- 
ery of  all  kinds  are  bloated  with  success !  Full  of  such  thoughts 
as  these,  how  often  have  I  slunk  stealthily  along  the  streets  of 
London,  on  cold  and  dreary  winter  evenings,  almost  fainting 
with  long  abstinence,  yet  reluctant  to  return  home  and  incur 
the  expense  of  an  ordinary  family  dinner,  while  my  wife's  situa- 
tion required  the  most  rigorous  economy  to  enable  us  to  meet, 
even  in  a  poor  and  small  way,  the  exigencies  of  her  approaching 
accouchement!  How  often — ay,  hundreds  of  times — have  I 
envied  the  coarse  and  filthy  fare  of  the  minor  eating-houses, 
and  been  content  to  interrupt  a  twelve  hours'  fast  with  a  bun  or 
biscuit  and  a  draught  of  water  or  turbid  table-beer,  under  the 
wretched  pretence  of  being  in  too  great  a  hurry  to  go  home  to 
dinner!  I  have  often  gazed  with  envy — once,  I  recollect,  in 
particular — on  dogs  eating  their  huge  daily  slice  of  boiled  horse's 
flesh,  and  envied  their  contented  and  satiated  looks !  With 
what  anguish  of  heart  have  I  seen  carriages  setting  down  com- 
pany at  the  door  of  a  house,  illuminated  by  the  glai-e  of  a 
hundred  tapers,  where  were  ladies  dressed  in  the  extreme  of 
fashion,  whose  cast-off  clothes  would  have  enabled  me  to  acquire 
a  tolerably  respectable  livelihood!  O,  ye  sons  and  daughters  of 
luxury  and  extravagance!  how  many  thousands  of  needy  and 
deserving  families  would  rejoice  to  eat  of  the  crumbs  which  fall 
from  your  tables,  and  they  may  not  I 

I  have  stood  many  a  time  at  my  parlour  window,  and  envied 
the  kitchen  fare  of  the  servants  of  my  wealthy  opposite  neigh- 
bour; while  I  protest  I  have  been  ashamed  to  look  our  own 
servant  in  the  face,  as  she,  day  after  day,  served  up  for  two  what 
was  little  more  than  sufficient  for  one:  and  yet,  bitter  mockery! 
I  was  to  support  abroad  the  farce  of  a  cheerful  and  respectable 
professional  exterior. 

*  #  it  *  4  «  H" 

Two  days  after  the  occurrence  at  St  James's  Park,  above 
related,  I  was,  as  usual,  reading  the  columns  of  advertise- 
ments in  one  of  the  daily  papers,  when  my  eyes  lit  on  the 
following; — 

"  The  professional  gentleman,  who,  a  day  or  two  ago,  had 
some  conversation  on  the  subject  of  asthma,  with  an  invalid,  on 

1  B 


18  DIAEY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

one  of  the  benches  of  St  James's  Park,  is  particularly  requested 
to  forward  his  name  and  address  to  W.  J.,  care  of  Messrs ." 

I  almost  let  the  paper  fall  from  my  hands  with  delighted  sur- 
prise. That  I  was  the  "professional  gentleman"  alluded  to, 
was  clear  ;  and  on  the  slender  foundation  of  this  advertisement, 
I  had,  in  a  few  moments,  built  a  large  and  splendid  superstruc- 
ture of  good  fortune.  I  had  hardly  calmness  enough  to  call 
my  wife,  who  was  engaged  with  some  small  household  matters, 
for  the  purpose  of  communicating  the  good  news  to  her.  I  need 
hardly  say  with  what  eagerness  I  complied  with  the  requisitions 
of  the  advertisement.  Half  an  hour  beheld  my  name  and  address 
in  an  envelope,  with   the   superscription,    "  W.  J.,"  lying  at 

Messrs  's,   who  were   stationers.     After  passing  a  most 

anxious  and  sleepless  night,  agitated  by  all  kinds  of  hopes  and 
fears,  my  wife  and  I  were  sitting  at  breakfast,  when  a  livery 
servant  knocked  at  the  door;  and,  after  enquiring  whether  "Dr 

"  was  at  home,  left  a  letter.     It  was  an  envelope,  containing 

the  card  of  address  of  Sir  William  • ,  No.  26, Street, 

accompanied  with  the  following  note : — 

"  Sir  William 's  compliments  to  Dr ,  and  will  feel 

obliged  by  his  looking  in  in  the  course  of  the  morning." 

"  Now  be  calm,  my  dear ,"  said  Emily,  as  she  saw  my 

fluttering  excitement  of  manner.  But,  alas!  that  was  impos- 
sible. I  was  impatient  for  the  hour  of  twelve;  and  precisely  as 
the  clock  struck,  I  sallied  forth  to  visit  my  titled  patient.  All 
the  way  I  went,  I  was  taxing  my  ingenuity  for  palHatives,  reme- 
dies for  asthma :  I  would  new-regulate  his  diet  and  plan  of  hfe 
— in  short,  I  would  do  wonders  ! 

Sir  William,  who  was  sitting  gasping  by  the  fireside,  received 
me  with  great  courtesy  ;  and  after  motioning  his  niece,  a  charm- 
ing young  woman,  to  retire,  told  me,  he  had  been  so  much  inter- 
ested by  my  remarks  the  other  day  in  the  Park,  that  he  felt 
inclined  to  follow  my  advice,  and  put  himself  under  my  care 
altogether.  He  then  entered  on  a  history  of  his  complaints.  I 
found  his  constitution  was  entirely  broken  up,  and  that  in  a 
very  little  while  it  must  fall  to  pieces.  I  told  him  however, 
that  if  he  would  adhere  strictly  to  the  regimen  I  proposed,  I 
could  promise  him  great  if  not  permanent  relief.     He  listened 


EARLY  STRUGGLES. — CHAPTER  I.  19 

to  what  I  said  with  the  utmost  interest.  "  Do  you  think  you 
could  prolong  my  life,  Doctor,  for  two  years?"  said  he,  with 
emotion.  I  told  him,  I  certainly  could  not  pretend  to  promise 
him  so  much.  "My  only  reason  for  asking  the  question,"  he 
replied,  "  is  my  beloved  niece,  that  young  lad}%  who  has  just 
left  us.  If  I  cannot  live  for  two  years  or  eighteen  months  longer, 
it  vrill  be  a  bitter  thing  for  her ! " — He  sighed  deeply,  and  added 
abruptly — "  But  of  that  more  hereafter.  I  hope  to  see  you  to-mor- 
row, Doctor."  He  insisted  on  my  accepting  five  guineas,  in  return 
for  the  tivo  visits  he  said  he  had  received  ;  and  I  took  my  depar- 
ture. I  felt  altogether  a  new  man,  as  I  walked  home.  My 
spirits  were  more  light  and  buoyant  than  they  had  been  for 
many  a  long  month;  for  I  could  not  help  thinking,  that  I  had 
now  a  fair  chance  of  introduction  into  respectable  practice.  My 
wife  shared  my  joy ;  and  we  were  as  happy  for  the  rest  of  that 
day,  as  if  we  had  already  surmounted  the  heavy  diifieulties  which 
oppressed  us. 

I  attended  Sir  William  every  day  that  week,  and  received  a 
fee  of  two  guineas  for  each  visit.     On  Sunday  I  met  the  family 

physician.  Sir ,  who  had  just  been  released  from  attendance 

on  one  of  the  Royal  Family.  He  was  a  polite  but  haughty  man; 
and  seemed  inclined  to  be  much  displeased  with  Sir  William  for 
calling  me  in.     When  I  entered,  Sir  William  introduced  me  to 

him  as  "  Dr ."    "  Dr ,  of Square?"  enquired  the 

other  physician,  carelessly.  I  told  him  where  I  lived.  He 
affected  to  be  reflecting  where  the  street  was ;  it  was  the  one 
next  to  that  in  which  he  himself  resided.  There  is  nothing  in 
the  world  so  easy,  as  for  the  eminent  members  of  our  profession 
to  take  the  bread  out  of  the  mouths  of  their  younger  brethren 

with  the  best  grace  in  the  world.     So  Sir contrived  in  the 

present  case.  He  assured  Sir  William,  that  nothing  was  calcu- 
lated to  do  him  so  much  good  as  change  of  air.  Of  course,  I 
could  not  but  assent.  The  sooner,  he  said.  Sir  William  left 
town  the  better.  Sir  WiUiam  asked  me  if  I  concurred  in  that 
opinion? — Certainly.  He  set  off  for  Worthing  two  days  after; 
and  I  lost  the  best,  and  almost  the  only  patient  I  had  then 
ever  had;  for  Sir  William  died  after  three  weeks'  residence  at 
Worthing. 


20  DIAET  OF  A  LATE  PHYSIClAIf. 

Tins  circTimstanee  occasioned  me  great  depression  of  spirits. 
Nothing  that  I  touched  seemed  to  prosper;  and  the  transient 
glimpses  I  occasionally  obtained  of  good  fortune,  seemed  given 
only  to  tantalize  me,  and  enhance  the  bitterness  of  the  contrast. 
My  store  of  money  -was  reduced  at  last  from  £3000  to  £25  in 
cash;   my  debts  amounted  to  upwards  of  £100;   and  in  six 

months,  another  £225  would  be  due  to  old  L !     My  wife, 

too,  had  been  confined,  and  there  was  another  source  of  expense ; 
for  both  she  and  my  little  daughter  were  in  a  very  feeble  state 
of  health.  Still,  sweetly  wishful  to  accommodate  herself  to  one 
lowered  in  circumstances,  she  almost  broke  my  heart  one  day 
with  the  proposal  of  dismissing  our  servant,  the  whole  of  whose 
labour  my  poor  sweet  Emily  herself  undertook  to  perform !  No, 
no — this  was  too  much;  the  tears  of  agony  gushed  from  my 
eyes,  as  I  folded  her  delicate  frame  in  my  arms,  and  assured  her 
that  Providence  would  never  permit  so  much  virtue  and  gentle- 
ness to  be  degraded  into  such  humiliating  servitude.  I  said 
this ;  but  my  heart  heavily  misgave  me,  that  a  more  wretched 
prospect  was  before  her! 

I  have  often  sat  by  my  small,  solitary  parlour  fire,  and  pon- 
dered over  our  misery  and  misfortunes,  tUl  almost  frenzied  with 
the  violence  of  my  emotions.  Where  was  I  to  look  for  relief? 
What  earthly  remedy  was  there  ?  O  my  God !  thou  alone 
knowest  what  this  poor  heart  of  mine  suffered  in  such  times  as 
these,  not  on  my  own  account,  but  for  those  beloved  beings 
whose  ruin  was  implicated  in  mine!    What,  however,  was  to  be 

done  at  the  present  crisis,  seeing,  at  Christmas,  old  L would 

come  upon  me  for  his  interest,  and  my  other  creditors  would 
insist  on  payment  ?  A  dreary  mist  came  over  my  mind's  eye 
whenever  I  attempted  to  look  steadily  forward  into  futurity.  I 
had  written  several  times  to  my  kind  and  condescending  friend. 

Lord ,  who  still  continued  abroad ;  but  as  I  knew  not  to 

what  part  of  the  continent  to  direct,  and  the  servants  of  his 
family  pretended  they  knew  not,  I  left  my  letters  at  his  town 
house,  to  be  forwarded  with  his  quarterly  packages.  I  sup- 
pose my  letters  must  have  been  opened,  and  burned,  as 
little  other  than  pestering,  begging  letters ;  for  I  never  heard 
from  him. 


EARLY  STRUGGLES. — CHAPTER  I.  23 

I  have  often  heard  from  my  father,  that  we  had  a  sort  of  fiftieth 
cousin  in  London,  a  baronet  of  great  wealth,  who  had  married  a 
distant  relation  of  our  family,  on  account  solely  of  her  beauty: 
but  that  he  was  one  of  the  most  haughty  and  arrogant  men 
breathing — had,  in  the  most  insolent  manner,  disavowed  the 
relationship,  and  treated  my  father,  on  one  occasion,  very  con- 
tumeliously;  a  fate  I  had  myself  shared,  as  the  reader  may 
recollect,  not  long  ago.*  Since  then,  however,  the  pressure  o: 
accumulated  misfortunes  had  a  thousand  times  forced  upon  me 
the  idea  of  once  more  applying  to  this  man,  and  stating  my  cir- 
cumstances. As  one  is  easily  induced  to  believe  what  one  wishes 
to  be  true,  I  could  not  help  thinking  that  surely  he  must  in 
some  degree  relent,  if  informed  of  our  utter  misery :  but  my  heart 
always  failed  me  when  I  took  my  pen  in  hand  to  write  to  him. 
I  was  at  a  loss  for  terms  in  which  to  state  our  distress  most 
feelingly,  and  in  a  manner  best  calculated  to  arrest  his  atten- 
tion. I  had,  however,after  infinite  reluctance,  addressed  a  letter 
of  this  sort  to  his  lady;  who,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  shared  all  Sir 

's  hauteur ;  and  received    an  answer  from  a   fashionable 

watering-place,  where  her  ladyship  was  spending  the  summer 
months.     This  is  it : — 

"  Lady ^"s  compliments  to  Dr  — — ,  and  having  received 

his  letter,  and  given  it  her  best  consideration,  is  happy  in  being 

able  to  request  Dr 's  acceptance  of  the  enclosed ;  which, 

however,   owing   to    Sir  's   temporary  embarrassment   in 

pecuniary  matters,  she  has  had  some  difficulty  in  sending.     She 

is,  therefore,  under  the  painful  necessity  of  requesting  Dr 

to  abstain  from  future  applications  of  this  sort.     As  to  Dr 's 

oiFer  of  his  medical  services  to  Lady 's  family,  when  in 

town.  Lady must  beg  to  decline  them,  as  the  present  phy- 
sician has  attended  the  family  for  years,  and  neither  Lady 

nor  Sir see  any  reason  for  changing. 

"  W ,  to  Dr  ." 

The  enclosure  was  i;iO,  which  I  was  on  the  point  of  returning 
in  a  blank  envelope,  indignant  at  the  cold  and  unfeeling  letter 
which  accompanied  it;  but  the  pale  sunk  cheeks  of  my  wife 
appealed  against   my  pride,  and  I  retained  it,      To  return 

•  Pa^o  S. 


22  DIART  OF  A  LATE  PHTSICIAN. 

Recollecting  the  reception  of  this  application,  as  well  as  my  for- 
mer visit  to  Sir ,  my  heart  froze  at  the  very  idea  of  repeating 

it.     To  what,  however,  will  not  misfortune  compel  a  man  !     I 

determined,  at  length,  to  call  upon  Sir ;  to  insist  upon 

being  shown  to  him.  I  set  out  for  this  purpose,  without  telling 
my  errand  to  my  wife,  who,  as  I  have  before  stated,  was  confined 
to  her  bed,  and  in  a  very  feeble  state  of  health.  It  was  a  fine 
sunny  morning,  or  rather  noon ;  all  that  I  passed  seemed 
happy  and  contented ;  their  spirits  exhilarated  by  the  genial 
weather,  and  sustained  by  the  successful  prosecution  of  busi- 
ness. My  heart,  however,  was  fluttering  feebly  beneath  tlee 
pressure  of  anticipated  disappointment.  I  was  going  in  the 
spirit  of  a  forlorn  hope  ;  with  a  dogged  determination  to  make 
the  attempt ;  to  know  that  even  this  door  was  shut  against  me. 

My  knees  trembled  beneath  me  as  I  entered Place,  and  saw 

elegant  equipages  standing  at  the  doors  of  most  of  the  gloomy, 
but  magnificent  houses,  which  seemed  to  frown  off  such  insigni- 
ficant and  wretched  individuals  as  myself.  How  could  I  ever 
muster  resolution  enough,  I  thought,  to  ascend  the  steps,  and 
knock  and  ring  in  a  sufficiently  authoritative  manner  to  be 
attended  to  ?  It  is  laughable  to  relate,  but  I  could  not  refrain 
from  stepping  back  into  a  by-street,  and  getting  a  small  glass 
of  some  cordial  spirit  to  give  me  a  little  firmness.     At  length  1 

ventured  again  into Place,  and  found  Sir 's  house  on 

the  opposite  side.  There  was  no  one  to  be  seen  but  some  foot- 
men in  undress,  lolling  indolently  at  the  dining-room  window, 
and  making  their  remarks  on  passers  by.  I  dreaded  these 
fellows  as  much  as  their  master !  It  was  no  use,  however,  in- 
dulging in  thoughts  of  that  kind ;  so  I  crossed  over,  and  lifting 
the  huge  knocker,  made  a  tolerably  decided  application  of  it,  and 
pulled  the  bell  with  what  I  fancied  was  a  sudden  and  imperative 
jerk.  The  summons  was  instantly  answered  by  the  corpulent 
porter,  who,  seeing  nothing  but  a  plain  pedestrian,  kept  hold  of 
the  door,  and  leaning  against  the  door-post,  asked  me  familiarly 
what  were  my  commands. 

"  Is  Sir at  home  ?  " 

"  Ye — es,"  said  the  fellow,  in  a  supercilious  tone. 

"  Can  he  be  spoken  to  ?  " 


EAELT  STBUGGLES. — CHAPTER  I.  23 

"  I  think  he  can't,  for  he  wasn't  home  till  six  o'clock  this 
morning  from  the  Duchess  of 's." 

"  Can  I  wait  for  him  ?  and  will  you  show  him  this  card,"  said 
I,  tendering  it  to  him — "  and  say  I  have  particular  business  ?  " 

"  Couldn't  look  in  again  at  four,  could  you?"  he  enquired,  in 
the  same  tone  of  cool  assurance. 

"  No,  sir,"  I  replied,  kindling  with  indignation ;  "  my  business 
is  urgent — I  shall  wait  now.  " 

With  a  yawn  he  opened  the  door  for  me,  and  called  to  a  ser- 
vant to  show  me  into  the  antechamber,  saying,  I  must  make  up 

my  mind  to  wait  an  hour  or  two,  as  Sir was  then  only  just 

getting  up,  and  would  be  an  hour  at  least  at  his  breakfast.  He 
then  left  me,  saying  he  would  send  my  card  up  to  his  master. 
My  spirits  were  somewhat  ruffled  and  agitated  with  having  forced 
my  way  thus  far  through  the  frozen  island  of  English  aristo- 
cracy, and  I  sat  down  determined  to  wait  patiently  till  I  was 
summoned  up  to  Sir .  I  could  hear  several  equipages  dash- 
ing up  to  the  door,  and  the  visiters  they  brought  were  always 
shown  up  immediately.     I  rung  the  bell  and  asked  a  servant 

why  I  was  suffered  to  wait  so  long,  as  Sir  was  clearly 

visible  now  ? 

"'Pon  honour,  I  don't  know  indeed,"  said  the  fellow,  coolly 
shutting  the  door. 

"  Boiling  with  indignation,  I  resumed  my  seat,  then  walked 
to  and  fro,  and  presently  sat  down  again.  Soon  afterwards,  I 
heard  the  French  valet  ordering  the  carriage  to  be  in  readiness 
in  half  an  hour.  I  rung  again  ;  the  same  servant  answered. 
He  walked  into  the  room,  and  standing  near  me,  asked,  in  a 

familiar  tone,  what  I  wanted.     "  Show  me  up  to  Sir ,  for  I 

shall  wait  no  longer,"  said  I,  sternly. 

"  Can't,  sir,  indeed,"  he  replied,  with  a  smirk  on  his  face. 

"  Has  my  card  been  shown  to  Sir ?  "  I  enquired,  strug- 
gling to  preserve  my  temper. 

"  I'll  ask  the  porter  if  he  gave  it  to  Sir  — — ^'s  valet,"  he 
replied,  and  shut  the  door. 

About  ten  minutes  afterwards  a  carriage  drove  up ;  there 
was  a  bustle  on  the  stairs,  and  in  the  hall.  I  heard  a  voice 
saying,  "  If  Lord calls,  tell  him  I  am  gone  to  his  house ;" 


24  DIAET  OF  A  XATE  PHYSICIAN. 

in  a  few  moments,  the  steps  of  the  carriage  were  let  down — the 
carriage  drove  off — and  all  was  quiet.     Once  more,  I  rung. 

"  Is  Sir now  at  liberty  ?" 

"  Oh !  he's  gone  out,  sir,"  said  the  same  servant,  who  had 
twice  before  answered  my  summons.  The  valet  then  entered. 
I  asked  him,  with  lips  quivering  with  indignation,  why  I  had  not 

seen  Sir ?     I  was  given  to  understand  that  my  card  had 

been  shown  the  Baronet — that  he  said,  "  I've  no  time  to  attend 
to  this  person,"  or  words  to  that  effect — and  had  left  his  house 
without  deigning  to  notice  me !  Without  uttering  more  than 
"  Show  me  the  door,  sir,"  to  the  servant,  I  took  my  departure, 
determining  to  perish  rather  than  make  a  second  application. 
To  anticipate  my  narrative  a  little,  I  may  state,  that,  ten  years 

afterwards.  Sir  ,  who  had  become  dreadfully  addicted  to 

gambling,  lost  all  his  property,  and  died  suddenly  of  an  apopletic 
seizure,  brought  on  by  a  paroxysm  of  fury  !  Thus  did  Provi- 
dence I'eward  this  seMsb  and  unfeeling  man. 

I  walked  about  the  town  for  several  hours,  endeavouring  to 
wear  off  that  air  of  chagrin  and  sorrow  which  had  been  occasioned 

by  my  reception  at  Sir 's.     Something  must  be  done,  and 

that  immediately ;  for  absolute  starvation  was  now  before  us.  1 
could  think  of  but  two  other  quarters  where  I  could  apply  for  a 
little  temporary  relief.  I  resolved  to  write  a  note  to  a  very  cele- 
brated and  successful  brother  practitioner,  stating  my  necessities 
— acquainting  him  candidly  with  my  whole  circumstances,  and 
soliciting  the  favour  of  a  temporary  accommodation  of  a  few 
pounds — twenty  was  the  sum  I  ventured  to  name.  I  wrote  the 
letter  at  a  coffeehouse,  and  returned  home.  I  spent  all  that 
evening  in  attempting  to  picture  to  myself  the  reception  it  would 
meet  with.  I  tried  to  put  myself  in  the  place  of  him  I  had  writ- 
ten to,  and  fancy  the  feelings  with  which  I  should  receive  a  similar 
application.  I  need  not,  however,  tantalize  the  reader.  After 
nearly  a  fortnight's  suspense,  I  received  the  following  reply 
to  my  letter.  I  shall  give  it  verbatim,  after  premising,  that  the 
writer  of  it  was  at  that  time  making  about  ,£10,000  or  £12,000 
a-year : — 

" encloses  a  trifle  {one  guinea)  to  Dr ;  wishes  it 

may  be  serviceable ;  but  must  say,  that  when  young  men  attempt 


EARLY  STRUGGLES. CHAPTER  I.  '25 

a  Station  in  life  without  competent  funds  to  meet  it,  tliey  cannot 
wonder  if  they  fail. 
" Square." 

The  other  quarter  was  old  Mr  G ,  our  Indian  lodger. 

Though  an  eccentric  and  reserved  man,  shunning  all  company, 
except  that  of  a  favourite  black  servant,  I  thought  he  might  yet 
be  Uberal.  As  he  was  something  of  a  character,  I  must  be 
allowed  a  word  or  two  about  him,  in  passing.  Though  he  occu- 
pied the  whole  of  the  first  floor  of  my  house,  I  seldom  saw  him. 
In  truth,  he  was  little  else  than  a  bronze  fireside  fixture — all  day 
long,  summer  and  winter,  protected  from  the  intrusion  of 
draughts  and  visiters,  which  equally  annoyed  him,  by  a  huge 
folding-screen — swathed,  mummy-like,  in  flannel  and  furs — ■ 
squalling  incessant  execrations  against  the  chilly  English  climate 
— and  solacing  himself,  alternately,  with  sleep,  caudle,  and  curry. 
He  would  sit  for  hours  listening  to  a  strange  cluttering  (I  know 
no  word  but  this  that  can  give  any  thing  like  an  idea  of  it),  and 
most  melancholy  aoise,  uttered  by  his  black  grizzle-headed  ser- 
vant— which  I  was  given  to  understand  was  a  species  of  Indian 
song^evincing  his  satisfaction  by  a  face  curiously  puckered 
together,  and  small  beady  black  eyes,  glittering  with  the  light 
of  vertical  suns  :  thus,  I  say,  he  would  sit  till  both  dropt  asleep. 
He  was  very  fond  of  this  servant  (whose  name  was  Clinquabor, 
or  something  of  that  sort),  and  yet  would  kick  and  strike  him 
with  great  violence  on  the  slightest  occasions. 

Without  being  sordidly  self-interested,  I  candidly  acknow- 
ledge, that  on  receiving  him  into  our  house,  and  submitting  to 
divers  inconveniences  from  his  strange  foreign  fancies,  I  had 
calculated  on  his  proving  a  lucrative  lodger.  I  was,  however, 
very  much  mistaken.  He  uniformly  discouraged  my  visits,  by 
evincing  the  utmost  restlessness,  and  even  trepidation,  whenever 
I  approached.  He  was  more  tolerant  of  my  wife's  visits;  but 
even  to  her  could  not  help  intimating  in  pretty  plain  terms,  on 
more  occasions  than  one,  that  he  had  no  idea  of  being  "drugged 
to  death  by  his  landlord."  On  one  occasion,  however,  his  servant 
came  stuttering  with  agitation  into  my  room,  that  "  bib  massa 
wis  to  see — a — a  Docta."  I  foimd  him  suffering  from  the  heart- 
burn; submitted  to  his  asthmatic  querulousness  for  nearly  half 


26  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

an  hour ;  prescribed  the  usual  remedies;  and  received  in  return 
— a  guinea? — No,  a  curious,  ugly,  and  perfectly  useless  cane, 
with  which  (to  enhance  its  value)  he  assured  me  he  had  once 
kept  a  large  snake  at  bay !  On  another  occasion,  in  return  for 
similar  professional  assistance,  he  dismissed  me  without  tender- 
ing me  a  fee,  or  any  thing  instead  of  it ;  but  sent  for  my  wife  in 
the  course  of  the  afternoon,  and  presented  her  with  a  hideous 
little  cracked  china  teapot,  the  lid  fastened  with  a  dingy  silver 
chain,  and  the  lip  of  the  spout  bearing  evident  marks  of  an 
ancient  compound  fracture.  He  was  singularly  exact  in  every 
thing  he  did :  he  paid  his  rent,  for  instance,  at  ten  o'clock  in  the 
morning  every  quarter  day,  as  long  as  he  lived  with  me. 

Such  was  the  man  whose  assistance  I  had  at  last  determined 
to  ask.  With  infinite  hesitation  and  embarrassment,  I  stated  my 
circumstances.  He  fidgeted  sadly,  till  I  concluded,  almost  inar- 
ticulate with  agitation,  by  soliciting  the  loan  of  £300 — offering, 
at  the  same  time,  to  deposit  with  him  the  lease  of  my  house  as  a 
collateral  security  for  what  he  might  advance  me. 

"  My  God !  "  he  exclaimed,  falling  back  in  his  chair,  and  ele- 
vating his  hands. 

"  Would  you  favour  me  with  this  sum,  Mr  G ?"  I  en- 
quired in  a  respectful  tone. 

"  Do  you  take  me,  doctor,  for  a  money-lender  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,  sir ;  but  for  an  obliging  friend  as  well  as  lodger 
if  you  will  allow  me  the  liberty." 

"  Ha !  you  think  me  a  rich  old  hunks  come  from  India,  to 
fling  his  gold  at  every  one  he  sees  ?  " 

"  May  I  beg  an  answer,  sir?"  said  I,  after  a  pause. 

"  I  cannot  lend  it  you,  doctor,"  he  replied  calmly,  and 
bowed  me  to  the  door.  I  rushed  down  stairs,  almost  gnashing 
my  teeth  with  fury.  The  Deity  seemed  to  have  marked  me 
with  a  curse.     No  one  would  listen  to  me ! 

The  next  day  my  rent  was  due ;  which,  with  Mr  G 's  rent, 

and  the  savings  of  excruciating  parsimony,  I  contrived  to  meet. 

Then  came  old  L !  Good  God !  what  were  my  feelings  when 

I  saw  him  hobble  up  to  my  door.  I  civilly  assured  him,  with  a 
quaking  heart  and  ashy  cheeks,  but  with  the  calmness  of  despair, 
that  though  it  was  not  convenient  to-day,  he  should  have  it  in 


EARLY  STBUGGLES. CHAPTER  I.  27 

the  morning  of  the  next  day.  His  greedy,  black,  Jewish  eye 
seemed  to  dart  into  my  very  soul.  He  retired,  apparently  satis- 
fied, and  I  almost  fell  down  and  blessed  him  on  my  knees  for  his 
forbearance. 

It  was  on  Wednesday,  two  days  after  Christmas,  that  my 
dear  Emily  came  down  stairs  after  her  confinement.  Though 
pale  and  languid,  she  looked  very  lovely,  and  her  fondness  for 
me  seemed  redoubled.  By  way  of  honouring  the  season,  and 
welcoming  my  dear  wife  down  stairs,  in  spite  of  my  fearful 
embarrassments,  I  expended  my  last  guinea  in  providing  a 
tolerably  comfortable  dinner,  such  as  I  had  not  sat  down  to  for 
many  a  long  week.  I  was  determined  to  cast  care  aside  for  one 
day  at  least.  The  little  table  was  set ;  the  small  but  savoury 
roast  beef  was  on  ;  and  I  was  just  drawing  the  cork  of  a  solitary 
bottle  of  port,  when  a  heavy  knock  was  heard  at  the  street  door. 
I  almost  fainted  at  the  sound — I  knew  not  why.  The  servant 
answered  the  door,  and  two  men  entered  the  very  parlour,  hold- 
ing a  thin  slip  of  parchment  in  their  hands. 

"In  God's  name,  who  are  you? — what  brings  you  here?"  I 
enquired,  or  rather  gasped — while  my  wife  sat  silent,  trembling 
and  looking  very  faint. 

"  Are  you  the  gentleman  that  is  named  here  ?"  enquired  one 
of  the  men,  in  a  civil  and  even  compassionate  tone — showing  me 

a  writ  issued  by  old  L ,  for  the  money  I  owed  him !     My 

poor  wife  saw  my  agitation,  and  the  servant  arrived  just  in  time 
to  preserve  her  from  falling,  for  she  had  fainted.  I  had  her 
carried  to  bed,  and  was  permitted  to  wait  by  her  bedside  for 
a  few  moments;  when,  more  dead  than  alive,  I  surrendered 
myself  into  the  hands  of  the  officers.  "  Lord,  sir,"  said  they 
as  I  walked  between  them,  "  this  here  is  not,  by  no  manner  of 
means,  an  uncommon  thing,  d'ye  see — thof  it's  rather  hard,  too, 
to  leave  one's  dinner  and  one's  wife  so  sudden !  But  you'll,  no 
doubt,  soon  get  bailed — and  then,  you  see,  there's  a  little  time 
for  turning  in!"  I  answered  not  a  syllable — for  I  felt  suffo- 
cated. Bail — where  was  I — a  poor,  unknown,  starving  physi- 
cian— to  apply  for  it  ?  Even  if  I  could  succeed  in  finding  it, 
would  it  not  be  unprincipled  to  take  their  security  when  I  had 
T)o  conceivable  means  of  meeting  the  fearful  claim  ?     Wliat  is 


28  DIARY  or  A  LATE  PHTSICLAN. 

the  use  of  merely  postponing  the  evil  day,  in  order  to  aggravate 
its  horrors  ?  I  shall  never  forget  that  half-hour,  if  I  were  to 
live  a  thousand  years.  I  felt  as  if  I  vs^ere  stepping  into  my 
grave.     My  heart  was  utterly  withered  within  me. 

A  few  hours  beheld  me  the  sullen  and  despairing  occupant  of 
the  back  attic  of  a  sponging-house*  near  Leicester  Square.  The 
weather  was  bitterly  inclement,  yet  no  fire  was  allowed  one  who 
had  not  a  farthing  to  pay  for  it — since  I  had  slipped  the  only 
money  I  had  in  the  world — three  shillings — into  the  pocket  of  my 
insensible  wife  at  parting.  Had  it  not  been  for  my  poor  Emily 
and  my  child,  I  think  I  should  have  put  an  end  to  my  miser- 
able existence ;  for  to  prison  I  must  go — if  there  was  no  miracle  to 
save  me ;  and  what  was  to  become  of  Emily  and  her  little  one  ? 
Jewels  she  had  none  to  pawn — my  hooks  had  nearly  all  disap- 
peared— the  scanty  remnants  of  our  furniture  were  not  worth 
selling.  Great  God !  I  was  nearly  frantic  when  I  thought  of  all 
this.  I  sat  up  the  whole  night  without  fire  or  candle  (for  the 
brutal  wretch  in  whose  custody  I  was,  suspected  I  had  money 
with  me,  and  would  not  part  with  it)  till  nearlj'  seven  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  when  I  sank,  in  a  state  of  stupor,  on  the  bed, 
and  fell  asleep.  How  long  I  continued  so,  I  know  not ;  for  I 
was  roused  from  a  dreary  dream  by  some  one  embracing  me, 
and  repeatedly  kissing  my  lips  and  forehead.  It  was  my  poor 
Emily !  who,  at  the  imminent  risk  of  her  life,  having  found  out 
where  I  was,  had  hurried  to  bring  me  the  news  of  release;  for 
she  had  succeeded  in  obtaining  the  sum  of  £300  from  our  lodger, 
which  I  had  in  vain  solicited.  We  returned  home  immediately. 
I  hastened  up  stairs  to  our  lodger  to  express  the  most  enthusi- 
astic thanks.  He  listened  without  interruption,  and  then  coldly 
replied — "  I  would  rather  have  your  note  of  hand,  sir.  "f  Al- 
most choked  with  mortification  at  receiving  such  an  unfeeling 

*"Une  maison  de  depot,"  says  the  French  translator;  adding,  amusingly 
enough,  in  a  note, — "  (1 .)  Springing-house  (I)  est  maison  oii  Ton  depose  le  debi- 
teur,  avant  son  installation  definitive  :  leur  ^tat  de  la  malpropret6  et  les  impfits 
odieux  que  Ton  y  pr^leve  sur  les  malheureux  que  Ton  y  amSne,  sont,  dit-on,  une 
des  plaies  les  plus  honteuses  de  la  legislation,  et  de  la  penalit6  Anglaiso." 

\  *'  La  reconnaissance. — Selon  la  loi  Anglaise,  la  reconnaissance  d*une  dette, 
sans  ^poque  assignee  pour  le  paiement,  est  toujours  Talable  pour  I'arrestation 
du  BignataJre."— A'o<e  of  French  Tranitator. 


IIARLY  STKUGGLES. — CHAPTER  I.  29 

rebuff,  I  gave  him  -what  he  asked,  expecting  nothing  more  than 

that  he  would  presently  act  the  part  of  old  L .    He  did  not, 

however,  trouble  me. 

The  few  pounds  above  what  was  due  to  our  relentless  creditor 

L ,  sufficed  to  meet  some  of  our  more  pressing  exigencies  ; 

but  as  they  gradually  disappeared,  my  prospects  became  darker 
than  ever.  The  agitation  and  distress  which  recent  occurrences 
had  occasioned,  threw  my  wife  into  a  low,  nervous,  hysterical 
state,  which  added  to  my  misfortunes  ;  and  her  little  infant  was 
sensibly  pining  away,  as  if  in  unconscious  sympathy  with  its 
wretched  parents.     Where  now  were  we  to  look  for  help  ?    We 

had  a  new  creditor,   to  a  serious  amount,  in  Mr  G ,  our 

lodger  ;  whatever,  therefore,  might  be  the  extremity  of  our  dis- 
tress, applying  to  him  was  out  of  the  question  ;  nay,  it  would  be 
well  if  he  proved  a  lenient  creditor.  The  hateful  annuity  was 
again  becoming  due.     It  pressed  like  an  incubus  upon  us.    The 

form  of  old  L flitted  incessantly  around  us,  as  though  it 

were  a  fiend,  goading  us  on  to  destruction.  I  am  sure  I  must 
often  have  raved' frightfully  in  my  sleep ;  for  more  than  once  I 
was  woke  by  my  wife  clinging  to  me,  and  exclaiming,  in  terrified 
accents,  "  Oh,  hush,  hush  — —  don't,  for  Heaven's  sake,  say  so! " 

To  add  to  my  misery,  she  and  the  infant  began  to  keep  their 
bed ;  and  our  lodger,  whose  constitution  had  been  long  ago  bro- 
ken up,  began  to  fail  rapidly.  I  was  in  daily  and  most  harassing 
attendance  on  him;  but,  of  course,  could  not  expect  a  fee,  as 
I  was  already  his  debtor  to  a  large  amount.  I  had  three  patients 
who  paid  me  regularly,  but  only  one  was  a  daily  patient;  and  I 
was  obliged  to  lay  by,  out  of  these  small  incomings,  a  cruel 
portion  to  meet  my  rent  and  L -'s  annuity.  Surely  my  situa- 
tion was  now  like  that  of  the  fabled  scorpion,  surrounded  with 
fiery  destruction!  Every  one  in  the  house,  and  my  few  acquaint- 
ances without,  expressed  surprise  and  commiseration  at  my 
wretched  appearance.  I  was  worn  almost  to  a  skeleton ;  and 
when  I  looked  suddenly  in  the  glass,  my  worn  and  hollow  looks 
startled  me.  My  fears  magnified  the  illness  of  my  wife.  The 
whole  world  seemed  melting  away  from  me  into  gloom  and 
darkness. 

My  thoughts,  I  well  recollect,  seemed  to  be  perpetually  occu- 


30  DIAP.T  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

pied  -with  the  dreary  image  of  a  desolate  churchyard,  wet  and 
cold  with  the  sleets  and  storms  of  winter.  Oh,  that  I,  and  ray  wife 
and  child,  I  have  sometimes  madly  thought,  were  sleeping  peace- 
fully in  our  long  home !  Why  were  we  brought  into  the  world? 
— why  did  my  nature  prompt  me  to  seek  my  present  station  in 
societj'  ? — merely  for  the  purpose  of  reducing  me  to  the  dread- 
ful condition  of  him  of  old,  whose  only  consolation  from  his 
friends  was — Curse  God,  and  die !  What  had  we  done — what 
had  our  forefathers  done — that  Providence  should  thus  frown 
upon  us,  thwarting  every  thing  we  attempted  ? 

Fortune,  however,  at  last  seemed  tired  of  persecuting  me; 
and  my  affairs  took  a  favourable  turn  when  most  they  needed  it, 
and  when  least  I  expected  it.  On  what  small  and  insignificant 
things  do  our  fates  depend !    Truly — 

There  is  a  tide  in  the  atfairs  of  men, 

Which,  taken  at  the  flood,  leads  on  to  fortune. 

About  eight  o'clock  one  evening  in  the  month  of  March,  I  was 
walking  down  the  Haymarket,  as  usual,  in  a  very  disconsolate 
mood,  in  search  of  some  shop  Vr-here  I  might  execute  a  small 
commission  for  my  wife.  The  whole  neighbourhood  in  front  of 
the  Opera-house  door  exhibited  the  usual  scene  of  uproar,  ari- 
sing from  clashing  carriages  and  quarrelsome  coachmen.  I  was 
standing  at  the  box-door,  watching,  with  sickening  feelings,  the 
company  descend  from  their  carriages,  when  a  cry  was  heard 
from  the  very  centre  of  the  crowd  of  coaches — "  Run  for  a 
doctor ! "  I  rushed  instantly  to  the  spot,  at  the  peril  of  my 
life,  announcing  my  profession.  I  soon  made  my  way  up  to 
the  open  door  of  a  carriage,  from  which  issued  the  meanings 
of  a  female,  evidently  in  great  agony.  The  accident  was  this: 
A  young  lady  had  suddenly  stretched  her  arm  through  the  open 
window  of  the  carriage  conveying  her  to  the  opera,  for  the 
purpose  of  pointing  out  to  one  of  her  companions  a  brilliant 
illumination  of  one  of  the  opposite  houses.  At  that  instant  their 
coachman,  dashing  forward  to  gain  the  open  space  opposite  the 
box-door,  shot,  with  great  velocity  and  within  a  hairbreadth 
distance,  past  a  retiring  carriage.  The  consequence  was  inevit- 
able :  a  sudden  shriek  announced  the  dislocation  of  the  young 
lady's  shoulder,  and  the  shocking  laceration  of  the  fore-arm  and 


EARLY  STRUGGLES. CHAPTER  I.  31 

hand.  When  I  arrived  at  the  carriage-door,  the  unfortunate 
sufferer  was  lying  motionless  in  the  arms  of  an  elderly  gentle- 
man and  a  young  lady,  both  of  them,  as  might  be  expected, 

dreadfully   agitated.     It   was   the  Earl  of  and  his  two 

daughters.  Having  entered  the  carriage,  I  placed  my  fair 
patient  in  such  a  position  as  would  prevent  her  suffering  more 
than  was  necessary  from  the  motion  of  the  carriage — despatched 
one  of  the  servants  for  Mr  Cline,  to  meet  us  on  our  arrival,  and 
then  the  coachman  was  ordered  to  drive  home  as  fast  as  possible. 
I  need  not  say  more  than  that,  by  Mr  Cline's  skill,  the  disloca- 
tion was  quickly  reduced,  and  the  wounded  hand  and  arm  duly 
dressed.  I  then  prescribed  what  medicines  were  necessary — 
received  a  check  for  ten  guineas  from  the  Earl,  accompanied 
with  fervent  thanks  for  my  prompt  attentions,  and  was  requested 
to  call  as  early  as  possible  the  next  morning. 

As  soon  as  I  had  left  his  lordship's  door,  I  shot  homeward 
like  an  arrow.  My  good  fortune  (truly  it  is  an  ill  wind  that  blows 
nobody  any  good)  was  almost  too  much  for  me.  I  could  scarce 
repress  the  violence  of  my  emotions,  but  felt  a  continual  inclina- 
tion to  relieve  myself,  by  singing,  shouting,  or  committing  some 
other  such  extravagance.  I  arrived  at  home  in  a  very  few 
minutes,  and  rushed  breathless  up  stairs,  joy  glittering  in  my 
eyes,  to  communicate — inarticulate  with  emotion — my  good 
fortune  to  my  wife,  and  congratulate  ourselves  that  the  door  of 
professional  success  seemed  at  length  really  opened  to  us.  How 
tenderly  she  tried  to  calm  my  excitement,  and  moderate  my 
expectations,  without,  at  the  same  time,  depressing  my  spirits ! 
I  did  certainly  feel  somewhat  damped,  when  I  recollected  the 

little  incident  of  my  introduction  to  Sir  William ,  and  its 

abrupt  and  unexpected  termination.  This,  however,  seemed  a 
very  different  affair  ;  and  the  event  proved  that  my  expectations 
were  not  ill-founded. 

I  continued  in  constant  attendance  on  my  fair  patient,  who  was 
really  a  very  lovely  girl ;  and,  by  unremitting  and  anxious  atten- 
tions, so  conciliated  the  favour  of  the  Earl  and  the  rest  of  the 
family,  that  the  Countess,  who  had  long  been  an  invalid,  was 
committed  to  my  care,  jointly  with  that  of  the  family  physician. 
I  need  hardly  say,  that  my  poor  services  were  most  nobly  remu- 


32  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

Derated  ;  and  more  than  this — having  succeeded  in  securing  tlie 
confidence  of  the  family,  it  was  not  many  weeks  before  I  had 
the  honour  of  visiting  one  or  two  of  their  connexions  of  high 
rank :  and  I  felt  conscious  that  I  was  laying  the  foundation  of 
a  fashionable  and  lucrative  practice.     With  joy  unutterable,  I 

contrived  to  be  ready  for  our  half-yearly  tormentor,  old  L ; 

and  somewhat  surprized  him,  by  asking,  with  an  easy  air — oh, 
the  luxury  of  that  moment ! — when  he  wished  for  a  return  of 
his  principal.  Of  course,  he  was  not  desirous  of  losing  such 
interest  as  I  was  paying  ! 

I  had  seen  too  much  of  the  bitterness  of  adversity,  to  suifer  the 
dawn  of  good  fortune  to  elate  me  into  too  great  confidence.  I 
now  husbanded  my  resources  with  rigorous  economy — and  had, 
in  return,  the  inexpressible  satisfaction  of  being  able  to  pay  my 
way,  and  stand  fair  with  all  my  creditors.  Oh,  the  rapture  of 
being  able  to  pay  every  one  his  own!  M.y  beloved  Emily  ap- 
peared in  that  society  which  she  was  born  to  ornament;  and 
we  numbered  several  families  of  high  respectability  among  our 
visiting  friends.  As  is  usual  in  such  cases,  whenever  accident 
threw  me  in  the  way  of  those  who  formerly  scowled  upon  me 
contemptuously,  I  was  received  with  an  excess  of  civility.  The 
very  physician  who  sent  me  the  munificent  donation  of  a  guinea, 
I  met  in  consultation,  and  made  his  cheeks  tingle,  by  returning 
him  the  loan  he  had  advanced  me ! 

In  four  years'  time  from  the  occurrence  at  the  Haymarket,  I 

contrived  to  pay  old  L his  £3000  (though  he  did  not  live  a 

month  after  signing  the  receipt),  and  thus  escaped — blessed  be 
God !— for  ever  from  the  fangs  of  the  money-lenders.  A  word 
or  two,  also,  about  our  Indian  lodger.  He  died  about  eighteen 
months  after  the  accident  I  have  been  relating.  His  sole  heir 
was  a  young  lieutenant  in  the  navy ;  and  very  much  to  my  sur- 
prise and  gratification,  in  a  codicil  to  old  Mr  G 's  will,  I 

was  left  a  legacy  of  £2000,  including  the  £300  he  had  lent  me, 
saying,  it  was  some  return  for  the  many  attentions  he  had  re- 
ceived from  us  since  he  had  been  our  lodger,  and  as  a  mark  of 
his  approbation  of  the  honourable  and  virtuous  principles  by 
which,  he  said,  he  had  always  perceived  our  conduct  to  be 
actuated. 


CANCER. CHAPTER  H.  3S 

Twelve  years  from  this  period,  my  income  amounted  to  between 
£3000  and  £4000  a-year;  and  as  my  family  was  increasing,  I 
thought  my  means  warranted  a  more  extensive  establishment.  I 
therefore  removed  into  a  large  and  elegant  house,  and  set  up  my 
carriage.  The  recollection  of  past  times  has  taught  me  at  least 
one  useful  lesson — whether  my  life  be  long  or  short — to  bear 
success  with  moderation,  and  never  to  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  appli- 
cations from  the  younger  and  less  successful  members  of  my 
profession. 

Sweet  are  the  uses  of  adversity; 
Which,  like  a  toad,  ugly  and  venomous, 
Wears  yet  a  precious  jewel  in  his  head. 


CHAPTER  II. 


One  often  hears  of  the  great  firmness  of  the  female  sex,  and 
their  powers  of  enduring  a  degree  of  physical  pain,  which  would 
utterly  break  down  the  stubborn  strength  of  man.  An  interest- 
ing exemplification  of  this  remark  will  be  found  in  the  short 
narrative  immediately  following.  The  event  made  a  strong  im- 
pression on  my  mind  at  the  time,  and  I  thought  it  well  worthy 
of  an  entry  in  my  Diary. 

I  had  for  several  months  been  in  constant  attendance  on  a  Mrs 

St ,  a  young  married  lady  of  considerable  family  and  fortune, 

who  was  the  victim  of  that  terrible  scourge  of  the  female  sex,  a 
cancer.  To  great  personal  attractions,  she  added  uncommon 
sweetness  of  disposition ;  and  the  fortitude  with  which  she  sub- 
mitted to  the  agonizing  inroads  of  her  malady,  together  with  her 
ardent  expressions  of  gratitude  for  such  temporary  alleviations 
as  her  anxious  medical  attendants  could  supply,  contributed  to 
inspire  me  with  a  very  lively  interest  in  her  fate.  I  can  con- 
scientiously say,  that,  during  the  whole  period  of  my  attendance, 
I  never  heard  a  word  of  complaint  fall  from  her,  nor  witnessed 

1  c 


34  DIARY  or  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

any  indications  of  impatience  or  irritability.  I  found  her,  one 
morning,  stretched  on  the  crimson  sofa  in  the  drawing-room ; 
and,  though  her  pallid  features  and  gently  corrugated  eyebrows 
evidenced  the  intense  agony  she  was  suffering,  on  my  enquiring 
what  sort  of  a  night  she  had  passed,  she  replied,  in  a  calm  but 
tremulous  tone,  "  Oh,  doctor,  I  have  had  a  dreadful  night !  but 

I  am  glad  Captain  St was  not  with  me;  for  it  would  have 

made  him  very  wretched."  At  that  moment,  a  fine  flaxen-haired 
little  boy,  her  first  and  only  child,  came  running  into  the  room, 
his  blue  laughing  eyes  glittering  with  innocent  merriment.  I 
took  him  on  my  knee  and  amused  him  with  my  watch,  in  order 
that  he  might  not  disturb  his  mother.  The  poor  sufferer,  after 
gazing  on  him  with  an  air  of  intense  fondness  for  some  moments, 
suddenly  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hand,  (oh !  how  slender — 
how  snowy — how  almost  transparent  was  that  hand!)  and  I 
presently  saw  the  tears  trickling  through  her  fingers ;  but  she 
uttered  not  a  word.  There  was  the  mother !  The  aggravated 
malignity  of  her  disorder  rendered  an  operation  at  length  inevit- 
able. The  eminent  surgeon,  who,  jointly  with  myself,  was  in 
regular  attendance  on  her,  feelingly  communicated  the  intelli- 
gence, and  asked  whether  she  thought  she  had  fortitude  enough 
to  submit  to  an  operation  ?  She  assured  him,  with  a  sweet  smile 
of  resignation,  that  she  had  for  some  time  been  suspecting  as 
much,  and  had  made  up  her  mind  to  submit  to  it;  but  on  two 
conditions — that  her  husband  (who  was  then  at  sea)  should  not 
be  informed  of  it  till  it  was  over ;  and  that,  during  the  operation, 
she  should  not  be  in  anywise  bound  or  blindfolded.  Her  calm 
and  decisive  manner  convinced  me  that  remonstrance  would  bf 

useless.    Sir looked  at  me  with  a  doubtful  air.    She  observed 

it,  and  said,  "  I  see  what  you  are  thinking.  Sir ;  but  I  hope 

to  show  you  that  a  woman  has  more  courage  than  you  seem 
willing  to  give  her  credit  for."  In  short,  after  the  surgeon  had 
acquiesced  in  the  latter  condition — to  which  he  had  especially 
denmrred — a  day  was  fixed  for  the  operation — subject,  of  course, 

to  Mrs  St 's  state  of  health.    When  the  Wednesday  arrived, 

it  was  with  some  agitation  that  I  entered  Sir 's  carriage,  in 

company  with  himself  and  his  senior  pupU,  Mr .     I  could 

scarce  avoid  a  certain  nervous  tremor — unprofessional  as  it  may 


CANCER. CHAPTER  II.  35 

seem — Y/hen  I  saw  the  servant  place  the  operating  case  on  the 
seat  of  the  carriage.    "  Are  you  sure  you  have  every  thing  ready, 

Mr ?"  enquired  Sir ,  vi^ith  a  calm,  business-like  air, 

which  somewhat  irritated  me.  On  being  assured  of  the  afHrma- 
tive,  and  after  cautiously  casting  his  eye  over  the  case  of  instru- 
ments,* to  make  assurance  doubly  sure,  we  drove  off.  We  arrived 

at  Mrs  St -'s,  who  resided  a  few  miles  from  town,  about  two 

o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  were  immediately  ushered  into  the 
room  in  which  the  operation  was  to  be  performed — a  back  par- 
lour, the  window  of  which  looked  into  a  beautiful  garden.  I 
shall  be  pardoned,  I  hope,  for  acknowledging,  that  the  glimpse 
I  caught  of  the  pale  and  disordered  countenance  of  the  servant, 
as  he  retired  after  showing  us  into  the  room,  somewhat  discon- 
certed me  ;  for,  in  addition  to  the  deep  interest  I  felt  in  the  fate 
of  the  lovely  sufferer,  I  had  always  an  abhorrence  for  the  opera- 
tive part  of  the  profession,  which  many  years  of  practice  did  not 
suflBce  to  remove.  The  necessary  arrangements  being  at  length 
completed — consisting  of  a  hateful  array  of  instruments,  cloths, 

sponge,  warm  water,  &c.  &c. — a  message  was  sent  to  Mrs  St , 

to  inform  her  all  was  ready. 

Sir was  just  making  a  jocular  and  not  very  well-timed 

allusion  to  my  agitated  air,  when  the  door  was  opened,  and  Mrs 

St entered,  followed  by  her  two  attendants.     Her  step  was 

firm,  her  air  composed,  and  her  pale  features  irradiated  with  a 
smile — sadj  however,  as  the  cold  twilight  of  October.  She  was 
then  about  twenty-six  or  seven  years  of  age — and,  under  all  the 
disadvantageous  circumstances  in  which  she  was  placed,  looked 
at  that  moment  a  beautiful  woman.  Her  hair  was  light  auburn, 
and  hung  back  neglectedly  over  a  forehead  and  neck  white  as 
marble.  Her  full  blue  eyes,  which  usually  beamed  with  a  deli- 
cious pensive  expression  from  beneath 

the  soft  languor  of  the  drooping  lid, 

were  now  lighted  with  the  glitter  of  a  restlessness  and  agitation, 

*  I  once  saw  the  life  of  a  patient  lost,  merely  through  the  "want  of  such  simple 
precaution  as  that  of  Sir ,  in  the  present  instance.  An  indispensable  instru- 
ment was  suddenly  required  in  the  midst  of  the  operation ;  and,  to  the  dismay 
o{  the  operator  and  those  around  him,  there  was  none  at  hand  I 


3b  DIARY  or  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

which  the  noblest  degree  of  self-command  could  not  entirely 
conceal  or  repress.  Her  features  were  regular — her  nose  and 
mouth  exquisitely  chiselled — and  her  complexion  fair,  almost  to 
transparency.  Indeed,  an  eminent  medical  writer  has  remarked, 
that  the  most  beautiful  women  are  generally  the  subjects  of  this 
terrible  disease.  A  large  Indian  shawl  was  thrown  over  her 
shoulders,  and  she  wore  a  white  muslin  dressing-gown.  And 
was  it  this  innocent  and  beautiful  being  who  was  doomed  to 
writhe  beneath  the  torture  and  disfigurement  of  the  operating 
knife  ?  My  heart  ached.  A  decanter  of  port-wine  and  some 
glasses  were  placed  on  a  small  table  near  the  window  ;  she 
beckoned  me  towards  it,  and  was  going  to  speak. 

"  Allow  me,  my  dear  madam,  to  pour  you  a  glass  of  wine," 
said  I — or  rather  faltered. 

"  If  it  would  do  me  good,  doctor,"  she  whispered.  She  barely 
touched  the  glass  with  her  lips,  and  then  handed  one  to  me,  say- 
ing, with  assumed  cheerfulness,  "  Come,  doctor,  I  see  you  need 
it  as  much  as  I  do,  after  all.  Yes,  doctor,"  she  continued,  with 
emphasis,  "  you  are  very,  very  kind  and  feeling  to  me."  When 
I  had  set  down  the  glass,  she  continued,  "  Dear  doctor,  do  for- 
give a  woman's  weakness,  and  try  if  you  can  hold  this  letter, 

which  I  received  yesterday  from  Captain ,  and  in  which  he 

speaks  very  fondly,  so  that  my  eyes  may  rest  on  his  dear  hand- 
writing all  the  while  I  am  sitting  here,  without  being  noticed  by 
any  one  else — will  you  ?  " 

"  Madam,  you  must  really  excuse  me — it  will  agitate  you — I 
must  beg" 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  she  replied,  with  firmness ;  "  it  will  rather 

compose  me.     And  if  I  should" expire,  she  was  going  to 

have  said — but  her  tongue  refused  utterance.  She  then  put  the 
letter  into  my  hand — hers  was  cold,  icy  cold,  and  clammy — but 
I  did  not  perceive  it  tremble. 

"  In  return,  madam,  you  must  give  me  leave  to  hold  your  hand 
during  the  operation." 

"  What — you   fear  me,  doctor  ? "  she  replied,  with  a   faint 

smile,  but  did  not  refuse  my  request.    At  this  moment.  Sir 

approached  us  with  a  cheerful  air,  saying,  "  Well,  madam,  is 
your  tete-a-tete  finished  ?     I  want  to  get  this  little  matter  over,  ■ 


CANCE3. — CHAPTER  n.  37 

and  give  you  permanent  ease."  I  do  not  think  there  ever  lived 
a  professional  man  who  could  speak  with  such  an  assuring  air  as 
Sir ! 

"  I  am  ready,  Sir .     Are  the  servants  sent  out  ? "  she 

enquired  from  one  of  the  women  present. 

"  Yes,  madam,"  she  replied,  in  tears. 

"  And  my  little  Harry  ?  "  Mrs  St asked,  in  a  fainter  tone. 

She  was  answered  in  the  affirmative. 

"  Then  I '  am  prepared,"  said  she,  and  sat  down  in  the  chair 
that  was  placed  for  her.  One  of  the  attendants  then  removed 
the  shawl  from  her  shoulders,  and  Mrs  St herself,  with  per- 
fect composure,  assisted  in  displacing  as  much  of  her  dress  as  was 

necessary.    She  then  suiFered  Sir to  place  her  on  the  corner 

side  of  the  chair,  with  her  left  arm  thrown  over  the  back  of  it, 
and  her  face  looking  over  her  left  shoulder.  She  gave  me  her 
right  hand ;  and,  with  my  left,  I  endeavoured  to  hold  Captain 

St 's  letter,  as  she  had  desired.     She  smiled  sweetly,  as  if  to 

assure  me  of  her  fortitude ;  and  there  was  something  so  inde- 
scribably affecting  in  the  expression  of  her  full  blue  eyes,  that  it 
almost  broke  my  heart.  I  shall  never  forget  that  smile  as  long 
as  I  live  !  Half  closing  her  eyes,  she  fixed  them  on  the  letter  1 
held — and  did  not  once  remove  them  till  all  was  over.  Nothing 
could  console  me  at  this  trying  moment,  but  a  conviction  of  the 

consummate  skill  of  Sir ,  who  now,  with  a  calm  eye  and  a 

steady  hand,  commenced  the  operation.  At  the  instant  of  the 
first  incision,  her  whole  frame  quivered  with  a  convulsive  shudder, 
and  her  cheeks  became  ashy  pale.  I  prayed  inwardly  that  she 
might  faint,  so  that  the  earlier  stage  of  the  operation  might  be  got 
over  while  she  was  in  a  state  of  insensibility.  It  was  not  the 
case,  however — her  eyes  continued  riveted,  in  one  long  burning 
gaze  of  fondness,  on  the  beloved  handwriting  of  her  husband  ; 
and  she  moved  not  a  limb,  nor  uttered  more  than  an  occasional 
sigh,  during  the  whole  of  the  protracted  and  painful  operation. 
When  the  last  bandage  had  been  applied,  she  whispered  almost 
inarticulately,  "Is  it  all  over,  doctor?" 

"  Yes,  madam,"  I  replied,  "  and  we  are  going  to  carry  you  up 
to  bed." 

"  No,  no — I  think  I  can  walk — I  will  try,"  said  she,  and 


88  BIART  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

endeavoured  to  rise;  but  on  Sir  assuring  her  that  the 

motion  might  perhaps  induce  fatal  consequences,  she  desisted, 

and  we  carried  her,  sitting  in  the  chair,  up  to  bed.    The  instant 

he  had  laid  her  down,  she  swooned — and  continued  so  long 

insensible,  that  Sir held  a  looking-glass  over  her  mouth 

and  nostrils,  apprehensive  that  the  vital  energies  had  at  last 

sunk  under  the  terrible  struggle.     She  recovered,  however ;  and 

under  the  influence  of  an  opiate  draught,  slept  for  several  hours. 
******* 

Mrs  St recovered,  though  very  slowly;  and  I  attended 

her  assiduously — sometimes  two  or  three  times  a-day,  till  she 
could  be  removed  to  the  sea-side.  I  shall  not  easily  forget  an 
observation  she  made  at  the  last  visit  I  paid  her.  She  was 
alluding,  one  morning,  distantly  and  delicately,  to  the  personal 
disfigurement  she  had  suffered.  I,  of  course,  said  all  that  was 
soothing. 

"  But,  doctor,  my  husband" said  she  suddenly,  while  a 

faint  crimson  mantled  on  her  cheek — adding,  falteringly,  after  a 
pause,  "  I  think  St will  love  me  yet ! " 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  DENTIST  AND  THE  COMEDIAN. 

Feidat, 18 — .  A  ludicrous  contretems  happened  to-day, 

which  I  wish  I  could  describe  as  forcibly  as  it  struck  me.     Mr 

,  the  well-known  comedian,  with  whom  I  was  on  terms  of 

intimacy,  after  having  suffered  so  severely  from  the  toothach  as  to 
be  prevented,  for  two  evenings,  from  taking  his  part  in  the  play, 

sent,  under  my  direction,  for  Monsieur  ,   a   fashionable 

dentist,  then  but  recently  imported  from  France.  While  I  was 
sitting  with  my  friend,  endeavouring  to  "  screw  his  courage  up 
to  the  sticking-place,"  Monsieur  arrived,  duly  furnished  with 
the  "  tools  of  his  craft."  The  comedian  sat  down  with  a  rueful 
visage,  and  eyed  the  dentist's  formidable  preparations  with  a 


THE  DENTIST  AND  THE  COMEDIAN  — CHAPTER  III.      39 

piteous  and  disconcerted  air.  As  soon  as  I  had  taken  my  station 
behind,  for  the  purpose  of  holding  the  patient's  head,  tlie  gum 
was  lanced  without  much  ado ;  but  as  the  doomed  tooth  was  a 
very  formidable  broad-rooted  molar,  Monsieur  prepared  for  a 
vigorous  effort.  He  was  just  commencing  the  dreadful  wrench, 
when  he  suddenly  relaxed  his  hold,  retired  a  step  or  two  from  his 
patient,  and  burst  into  a  loud  fit  of  laughter !  Up  started  the 
astounded  comedian,  and,  with  clenched  fists,  demanded  furi- 
ously, "  What  the he  meant  by  such  conduct  ?"  The  little 

bewhiskered  foreigner,  however,  continued  standing  at  a  little 
distance,  still  so  convulsed  with  laughter  as  to  disregard  the 
menacing  movements  of  his  patient ;  and  exclaiming,  "Ah,  inon 
Dieu ! — ver  good— ver  good — bien !  ha,  ha ! — Be  Gar,  Monsieur, 

you  pull  one  such  d queer,  extraordinaire  comique  face — be 

Gar,  like  one  big  fiddle  ! "  or  words  to  that  effect.     The  dentist 

was  right :  Mr 's  features  were  odd  enough  at  all  times ; 

but,  on  the  present  occasion,  they  suffered  such  excruciating 
contortions — such  a  strange  puckering  together  of  the  mouth 
and  cheeks,  and  upturning  of  the  eyes,  that  it  was  ten  thousand 
times  more  laughable  than  any  artificially  distorted  features  with 
which  he  used  to  set  Drury  Lane  in  a  roar ! — Oh  that  a  painter 
had  been  present !— There  was,  on  one  side,  my  friend,  standing 
in  a  menacing  attitude,  with  both  fists  clenched,  his  left  cheek 
swollen,  and  looking  as  if  the  mastication  of  a  large  apple  had 
been  suddenly  suspended,  and  his  whole  features  exhibiting  a 
grotesque  expression  of  mingled  pain,  indecision,  and  fury. 
Then  there  was  the  operator  beginning  to  look  a  little  startled 
at  the  probable  consequences  of  his  sally ;  and,  lastly,  I  stood  a 
little  aside,  almost  suffocated  with  suppressed  laughter!     At 

length,  however, 's  perception  of  the  ridiculous  prevailed ; 

and  after  a  very  hearty  laugh,  and  exclaiming,  "  I  must  have 
looked  odd,  I  suppose ! "  he  once  more  resigned  himself  into  the 
hands  of  Monsieur,  and  the  tooth  was  out  in  a  twinkling. 


40  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAIf. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A  scholar's  deathbed. 


[Much  more  of  the  following  short,  but  melancholy,  narra- 
tive, might  have  been  committed  to  press;  but  as  it  would 
have  related  chiefly  to  a  mad  devotion  to  alchymy,  which  some 

of  Mr 's  few  posthumous  papers  abundantly  evidence,  it  is 

omitted,  lest  the  reader  should  consider  the  details  as  romantic 
or  improbable.  All  that  is  worth  recording  is  told ;  and  it  is 
hoped,  that  some  young  men  of  powerful,  undisciplined,  and 
ambitious  minds,  will  find  their  account  in  an  attentive  con- 
sideration of  the  fate  of  a  kindred  spirit.  Bene  facit,  qui  ex 
aliorum  errorilms  sibi  exemplum  sumat.^ 

Thinking,  one  morning,  that  I  had  gone  through  the  whole 
of  my  usual  levee  of  home  patients,  I  was  preparing  to  go  out, 
when  the  servant  informed  me  there  was  one  yet  to  be  spoken 
with,  who,  he  thought,  must  have  been  asleep  in  the  corner  of 
the  room,  else  he  could  not  have  failed  to  summon  him  in  his 
turn.  Directing  him  to  be  shown  in  immediately,  I  retook  my 
place  at  my  desk.  The  servant,  in  a  few  moments,  ushered  in 
a  young  man,  who  seemed  to  have  scarce  strength  enough,  even 
with  the  assistance  of  a  walking-stick,  to  totter  to  a  chair  oppo- 
site me.  I  was  much  struck  with  his  appearance,  which  was 
that  of  one  in  reduced  circumstances.  His  clothes,  though  per- 
fectly clean  and  neat,  were  faded  and  threadbare;  and  his  coat 
was  buttoned  up  to  his  chin,  where  it  was  joined  by  a  black  silk 
neckerchief,  in  such  a  manner  as  to  lead  me  to  suspect  the 
absence  of  a  shirt.  He  was  rather  below  than  above  the  aver- 
age height,  and  seemed  wasted  almost  to  a  shadow.  There  was 
an  air  of  superior  ease  and  politeness  in  his  demeanour;  and  an 
expression  about  his  countenance,  sickly  and  sallow  though  it 
was,  so  melancholy,  mild,  and  intelligent,  that  I  could  not  help 
viewing  him  with  peculiar  interest. 

"  I  was  afraid,  my  friend,  I  should  have  missed  you,"  said  I, 
in  a  kind  tone,  "  as  I  was  on  the  point  of  going  out." — "  I  heard 
your  carriage  drive  up  to  the  door,  doctor,  and  shall  not  detain 


A  scholar's  deathbed. — CHAPTER  IV.  41 

you  more  than  a  few  moments :  nay,  I  will  call  to-morrow,  if 
that  would  be  more  convenient,"  he  replied  faintly,  suddenly 
pressing  his  hand  to  his  side,  as  tliough  the  effort  of  speaking 
occasioned  him  pain.  I  assured  him  I  had  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
at  his  service,  and  begged  he  would  proceed  at  once  to  state  the 
nature  of  his  complaint.  He  detailed — what  I  had  anticipated 
from  his  appearance — all  the  symptoms  of  a  very  advanced  stage 
of  pulmonary  consumption.  He  expressed  himself  in  very  select 
and  forcible  language,  and  once  or  twice,  when  at  a  loss  for 
what  he  conceived  an  adequate  expression  in  English,  chose 
such  an  appropriate  Latin  phrase,  that  the  thought  perpetu- 
ally suggested  itself  to  me,  while  he  was  speaking — a  starved 
scholar!"  He  had  not  the  most  distant  allusion  to  poverty,  but 
confined  himself  to  the  leading  symptoms  of  his  indisposition. 
I  determined,  however,  (haud  prcBteritorum  immemor  !)  to  ascer- 
tain his  circumstances,  with  a  view,  if  possible,  of  relieving 
them.  I  asked  if  he  eat  animal  food  with  relish — enjoyed  his 
dinner — whether  his  meals  were  regular.  He  coloured,  and 
hesitated  a  little,  for  I  put  the  question  searchingly ;  and  replied, 
with  some  embarrassment,  that  he  did  not,  certainly,  then  eat 
regularly,  nor  enjoy  his  food  when  he  did.  I  soon  found  that 
he  was  in  very  straitened  circumstances  ;  that,  in  short,  he  was 
sinking  rapidly  under  the  pressure  of  want  and  harassing  anxiety, 
which  alone  had  accelerated,  if  not  wholly  induced,  his  present 
illness  ;  and  that  all  that  he  had  to  expect  from  medical  aid,  was  a 
little  alleviation.  I  prescribed  a  few  simple  medicines,  and  then 
asked  him  in  what  part  of  the  town  he  resided. 

"  I  am  afraid,  doctor,"  said  he  modestly,  "  I  shall  be  unable 
to  afford  your  visiting  me  at  my  own  lodgings.  I  will  occasion- 
ally call  on  you  here,  as  a  morning  patient " — and  he  proffered 
me  half-a-guinea.  The  conviction  that  it  was  probably  the 
very  last  he  had  in  the  world,  and  a  keen  recollection  of  similar 
scenes  in  my  own  history,  almost  brought  the  tears  into  my 
eyes.  I  refused  the  fee,  of  course ;  and  prevailed  on  him  to  let 
me  set  him  down,  as  I  was  driving  close  past  his  residence.  He 
seemed  overwhelmed  with  gratitude;  and,  with  a  blush,  hinted 
that  he  was  "  not  quite  in  carriage  costume."  He  lived  in  one 
of  the  small  streets  leading  from  May-fair ;  and  after  having 


42  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

made  a  note  in  my  tablets  of  his  name  and  number,  I  set  him 
down,  promising  him  an  early  call. 

The  clammy  pressure  of  his  wasted  fingers,  as  I  shook  his 
hand  at  parting,  remained  with  me  all  that  day.  I  could  not 
dismiss  from  my  mind  the  mild  and  sorrowful  countenance  of 
this  young  man,  go  where  I  would,  and  I  was  on  the  point  of 
mentioning  the  incident  to  a  most  excellent  and  generous  noble- 
man, whom  I  was  then  attending,  and  soliciting  his  assistance, 
but  the  thought  that  it  was  premature  checked  me.  There 
might  be  something  unworthy  in  the  young  man;  he  might 
possibly  be  an — impostor.  These  were  hard  thoughts — chilling 
and  unworthy  suspicions — but  I  could  not  resist  them;  alas!  an 
eighteen  years'  intercourse  with  a  deceitful  world  has  alone 
taught  me  how  to  entertain  them ! 

As  my  wife  dined  a  little  way  out  of  town  that  evening,  I 
hastily  swallowed  a  solitary  meal,  and  set  out  in  quest  of  my 
morning  patient.  With  some  difficulty  I  found  the  house;  it 
was  the  meanest,  and  in  the  meanest  street  I  had  visited  for 
months.  I  knocked  at  the  door,  which  was  open,  and  sur- 
rounded by  a  babbling  throng  of  dirty  children.  A  slatternly 
woman,  with  a  child  in  her  arms,  answered  my  summons.     Mr 

,  she  said,  lived  there,  in  the  top  floor ;  but  he  was  just 

gone  out  for  a  few  moments,  she  supposed,  "  to  get  a  mouthful  of 
victuals,  but  I  was  welcome  to  go  up  and  wait  for  him,  since," 
said  the  rude  wretch,  "  there  was  not  much  to  make  away  with, 
howsoever !  "  One  of  her  children  led  me  up  the  narrow,  dirty 
staircase,  and  having  ushered  me  into  the  room,  left  me  to  my 
meditations.  A  wretched  hole  it  was  in  which  I  was  sitting ! 
The  evening  sun  streamed  in  discoloured  rays  through  the 
unwashed  panes,  here  and  there  mended  with  brown  paper,  and 
sufficed  to  show  me  that  the  only  furniture  consisted  of  a  miser- 
able, curtainless  bed  (the  disordered  clothes  showing  that  the 
weary  limbs  of  the  wretched  occupant  had  but  recently  left  it) 
— three  old  rush-bottom  chairs — and  a  rickety  deal  table,  on 
which  were  scattered  several  pages  of  manuscript,  a  letter 
or  two,  pens,  ink,  and  a  few  books.  There  was  no  chest  of 
drawers — nor  did  I  see  any  thing  likely  to  serve  as  a  substitute. 
Poor  Mr probably  carried  about  with  him  all  he  had  in  the 


A  8CH0I.AE  S  DEATHBED. CHAPTER  IV.  43 

world !  There  was  a  small  sheet  of  writing-paper  pinned  over 
the  mantelpiece  (if  snch  it  deserved  to  be  called),  which  I 
gazed  at  with  a  sigh  :  it  bore  simply  the  outline  of  a  coffin,  with 

Mr 's  initials,  and  ^^  obiit 18 — ,"  evidently  in  his  own 

handwriting.  Curious  to  see  the  kind  of  books  he  preferred, 
I  took  them  up  and  examined  them.  There  were,  if  I  recollect 
right,  a  small  Amsterdam  edition  of  Plautus — a  Horace — a  much 
befingered  copy  of  Aristophanes — a  neat  pocket  edition  of 
.^^schylus — a  small  copy  of  the  works  of  Lactantius — and  two 
odd  volumes  of  Englisli  books.  I  had  no  intention  of  being 
impertinently  inquisitive,  but  my  eye  accidentally  lit  on  the  upper- 
most manuscript,  and  seeing  it  to  be  in  the  Greek  character,  I 
took  it  up,  and  found  a  few  verses  of  Greek  sapphics,  entitled, 
E/f  T))»  vvKTet  TiKivraisiv — evidently  the  recent  composition  of 

Mr .     He  entered  the  room  as  I  was  laying  down  the  paper, 

and  started  at  seeing  a  stranger,  for  it  seems  the  people  of  the 
house  had  not  taken  the  trouble  to  inform  him  I  was  waiting. 
On  discovering  who  it  was,  he  bowed  politely,  and  gave  me  his 
hand ;  but  the  sudden  agitation  my  presence  had  occasioned, 
deprived  him  of  utterance.  I  thought  I  could  almost  hear  the 
palpitation  of  his  heart.  I  brought  him  to  a  chair,  and  begged 
him  to  be  calm. 

"  You  are  not  worse,  Mr ,  I  hope,  since  I  saw  you  this 

morning?"  I  enquired.  He  whispered  almost  inarticulately, 
holding  his  hand  to  his  left  side,  that  he  was  always  worse  in 
the  evenings.  I  felt  his  pulse;  it  beat  130!  I  discovered  that 
he  had  gone  out  for  the  purpose  of  trying  to  get  employment  in 
a  neighbouring  printing-office ! — ^but,  having  failed,  had  returned 
in  a  state  of  deeper  depression  than  usual.  The  perspiration 
roUed  from  his  brow  almost  faster  than  he  could  wipe  it  away. 
I  sat  by  him  for  nearly  two  minutes,  holding  his  hand  without 
uttering  a  word,  for  I  was  deeply  affected.  At  length  I  begged 
he  would  forgive  my  enquiring  how  it  was  that  a  young  man  of 
talent  and  education,  like  himself,  could  be  reduced  to  a  State  of 
such  utter  destitution  ?  While  I  was  waiting  for  an  answer,  he 
suddenly  fell  from  his  chair  in  a  swoon.  The  exertion  of  walk- 
ing, the  pressure  of  disappointment,  and,  I  fear,  the  almost 
unbroken  fast  of  the  day,  added  to  the  sudden  shock  occasioned 


44  DIARY  or  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

by  encountering  me  in  his  room,  had  completely  prostrated  the 
small  remains  of  his  strength.  When  he  had  a  little  revived, 
I  succeeded  in  laying  him  on  the  bed,  and  instantly  sum- 
moned the  woman  of  the  house.  After  some  time,  she  sauntered 
lazily  to  the  door,  and  asked  me  what  I  wanted.  "Are  you 
the  person  that  attends  on  this  gentleman,  my  good  woman?" 
I  enquired. 

"  Marry !  come  up,  sir,"  she  replied  in  a  loud  tone — "  I've 
no  manner  of  cause  for  attending  on  him,  not  I;  he  ought  to 
attend  on  himself:  and  as  for  his  being  a  gentleman"  she  con- 
tinued, with  an  insolent  sneer,  for  which  I  felt  heartily  incUned 
to  throw  her  down  stairs,  "  not  a  stiver  of  his  money  have  I 

seen  for  this  three  weeks  for  his  rent,  and" Seeing  the 

fluent  virago  was  warming,  and  approaching  close  to  my  unfor- 
tunate patient's  bedside,  I  stopped  her  short  by  putting  half-a- 
guinea  into  her  hand,  and  directing  her  to  purchase  a  bottle  of 
port  wine ;  at  the  same  time  hinting,  that  if  she  conducted  her- 
self properly,  I  would  see  her  rent  paid  myself.  I  then  shut  the 
door,  and  resumed  my  seat  by  Mr ,  who  was  trembling  vio- 
lently all  over  with  agitation,  and  endeavoured  to  soothe  him. 
The  more  I  said,  however,  and  the  kinder  were  my  tones,  the 
more  was  he  affected.  At  length  he  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears, 
and  continued  weeping  for  some  time  like  a  child.  I  saw  it 
was  hysterical,  and  that  it  was  best  to  let  his  feelings  have  their 
full  course.  His  nervous  excitement  at  length  gradually  sub- 
sided, and  he  began  to  converse  with  tolerable  coolness. 

"  Doctor,"  he  faltered,  "  your  conduct  is  very — very  noble — 
it  must  be  disinterested,"  pointing,  with  a  bitter  air,  to  the 
w^retched  room  in  which  we  were  sitting. 

"  I  feel  sure,  Mr ,  that  you  have  done  nothing  to  merit 

your  present  misfortunes,"  I  replied,  with  a  serious  and  enqui- 
ring air. 

"  Yes — yes,  I  have ! — I  have  indulged  in  wild  ambitious  hopes 
— lived  in  absurd  dreams  of  future  greatness — been  educated 
beyond  my  fortunes — and  formed  tastes,  and  cherished  feelings, 
incompatible  with  the  station  it  seems  I  was  born  to — beggary 
or  daily  labour!"  was  his  answer,  with  as  much  vehemence  as 
his  weakness  would  allow. 


A  scholar's  deathbed. — CHAPTER  IV.  45 

"  But,  Mr ,  your  friends — your  relatives — they  cannot  be 

apprized  of  your  situation."  • 

"Alas!  doctor,  friends  I  have  none — unless  you  will  permit 
me  to  name  the  last  and  noblest — yourself;  relatives,  several." 

"  And  they,  of  course,  do  not  know  of  your  illness  and  strait- 
ened circumstances  ?  " 

"  They  do,  doctor — and  kindly  assure  me  I  have  brought  it 
on  myself  To  do  them  justice,  however,  they  could  not,  I 
believe,  efficiently  help  me,  if  they  would." 

"  Why,  have  you  offended  them,  Mr ?     Have  they  cast 

you  off?" 

"  Not  avowedly — not  in  so  many  words.  They  have  simply 
refused  to  receive  or  answer  any  more  of  my  letters.  Possibly 
I  may  have  offended  them,  but  am  content  to  meet  them  here- 
after, and  try  the  justice  of  the  case — there"  said  Mr , 

solemnly  pointing  upwards.  "  Well  I  know,  and  so  do  you, 
doctor,  that  my  days  on  earth  are  very  few,  and  likely  to  be 
very  bitter  also."  It  was  in  vain  I  pressed  him  to  tell  me  who 
his  relatives  were,  and  suffer  me  to  solicit  their  personal  attend- 
ance on  his  last  moments.  "  It  is  altogether  useless,  doctor, 
to  ask  me  further,"  said  he,  raising  himself  a  little  in  bed — "  my 
father  and  mother  are  both  dead,  and  no  power  on  earth  shall 
extract  from  me  a  syllable  further  It  is  hard,"  he  continued, 
bursting  again  into  tears,  "  if  I  must  die  amid  their  taunts  and 
reproaches."  I  felt  quite  at  a  loss  what  to  say  to  all  this.  There 
was  something  very  singular,  if  not  reprehensible,  in  his  manner 
of  alluding  to  his  relatives,  which  led  me  to  fear  that  he  was  by 
no  means  free  from  blame.  Had  I  not  felt  myself  very  delicately 
situated,  and  dreaded  even  the  possibility  of  hurting  his  mor- 
bidly irritable  feelings,  I  felt  inclined  to  have  asked  him  how  he 
thought  of  existir>g  without  their  aid,  especially  in  his  forlorn 
and  helpless  state ;  having  neither  friends  nor  the  means  of 
obtaining  them.  I  thought  also,  that,  short  as  had  been  my 
intimacy  with  him,  I  had  discerned  symptoms  of  a  certain 
obstinacy,  and  haughty  imperiousness  of  temper,  which  would 
sufficiently  account,  if  not  for  occasioning,  at  least  for  widening, 
any  unhappy  breach  which  might  have  occurred  in  his  family. 
But  what  was  to  be  done?     I  could  not  let  him  starve;  as  I  had 


46  DIABT  or  A  LATE  PHTSICIAN. 

voluntarily  stepped  in  to  his  assistance,  I.  determined  to  make 
his  last«moments  easy — at  least  as  far  as  lay  in  my  power. 

A  little  to  anticipate  the  course  of  my  narrative,  I  may  here 
state  what  information  concerning  him  was  elicited  in  the  course 
of  our  various  interviews.  His  father  and  mother  had  left  Ire- 
land, their  native  place,  early,  and  gone  to  Jamaica,  where  they 
lived  as  slave  superintendents.  They  left  their  only  son  to  the 
care  of  the  wife's  brother-in-law,  who  put  him  to  school,  where 
he  much  distinguished  himself  On  the  faith  of  it,  he  contrived 
to  get  to  the  college  in  Dublin,  where  he  stayed  two  years  :  and 
then,  in  a  confident  reliance  on  his  own  talents,  and  the  sum  of 
£50,  which  was  sent  him  from  Jamaica,  with  intelligence  of  the 
death  of  both  his  parents  in  impoverished  circumstances,  he  had 
come  up  to  London,  it  seems,  with  no  very  definite  end  in  view. 
Here  he  continued  for  about  two  years ;  but,  in  addition  to  the 
failure  of  his  health,  all  his  efforts  to  establish  himself  proved 
abortive.  He  contrived  to  glean  a  scanty  sum.  Heaven  knows 
how,  which  was  gradually  lessening  at  a  time  when  his  impaired 
health  rather  required  that  his  resources  should  be  augmented. 
He  had  no  friends  in  respectable  life,  whose  influence  or  wealth 
might  have  been  serviceable ;  and,  at  the  time  he  called  on  me, 
he  had  not  more  in  the  world  than  the  solitary  half  guinea  he 
proffered  to  me  as  a  fee.  I  never  learned  the  names  of  any  of  his 
relatives ;  but  from  several  things  occasionally  dropped  in  the 
heat  of  conversation,  it  was  clear  there  must  have  been  unhappy 
differences. 

To  return,  however.  As  the  evening  was  far  advancing,  and 
I  had  one  or  two  patients  yet  to  visit,  I  began  to  think  of  taking 
my  departure.  I  enjoined  him  strictly  to  keep  his  bed  till  I  saw 
him  again,  to  preserve  as  calm  and  equable  a  frame  of  mind  as 
possible,  and  to  dismiss  all  anxiety  for  the  future,  as  I  would 
gladly  supply  his  present  necessities,  and  send  him  a  civil  and 
attentive  nurse.  He  tried  to  thank  me,  but  his  emotions  choked 
his  utterance.  He  grasped  my  hand  with  convulsive  energy. 
His  eye  spoke  eloquently ;  but,  alas !  it  shone  with  the  fierce 
and  unnatural  lustre  of  consumption,  as  though,  I  have  often 
thought  in  such  cases,  the  conscious  soul  was  glowing  with  the 
reflected  light  of  its  kindred  element — eternity.     I  knew  it  was 


A.  scholar's  deathbed. CHAPTER  IV.  47 

impossible  for  him  to  survive  many  days,  from  several  unequi- 
vocal S5Tnptoms  of  what  is  called,  in  common  language,  a  gallop- 
ing consumption.  I  was  as  good  as  my  word,  and  sent  him  a 
nurse  (the  mother  of  one  of  my  servants),  who  was  charged  to 
pay  him  the  utmost  attention  in  her  power.  My  wife  also  sent 
him  a  little  bed-furniture,  linen,  preserves,  jellies,  and  other 
small  matters  of  that  sort.  I  visited  him  every  evening,  and 
found  him  on  each  occasion  verifying  my  apprehensions,  for  he 
was  sinking  rapidly.  His  mental  energies,  however,  seemed  to 
increase  inversely  with  the  decline  of  his  physical  powers.  His 
conversation  was  animated,  various,  and,  at  times,  enchainingly 
interesting.  I  have  sometimes  sat  at  his  bedside  for  several 
hours  together,  wondering  how  one  so  young  (he  was  not  more 
than  two  or  three  and  twenty)  could  have  acquired  so  much 
information.  He  spoke  with  spirit  and  justness  on  the  leading 
political  topics  of  the  day ;  and  I  particularly  recollect  his  making 
some  very  noble  reflections  on  the  character  and  exploits  of 
Bonaparte,  who  was  then  blazing  in  the  zenith  of  his  glory. 
Still,  however,  the  current  of  his  thoughts  and  language  was 
frequently  tinged  with  the  enthusiasm  and  extravagance  of  deli- 
rium. Of  this  he  seemed  himself  conscious  ;  for  he  would  some- 
times suddenly  stop,  and  pressing  his  hand  to  his  forehead, 
exclaim,  "  Doctor,  doctor,  I  am  failing  here — here  !  "  He  acknow- 
ledged that  he  had,  from  his  childhood,  given  himself  up  to  the 
dominion  of  ambition ;  and  that  his  whole  life  had  been  spent  in 
the  most  extravagant  and  visionary  expectations.  He  would 
smile  bitterly  when  he  recounted  some  of  what  he  justly  stigma- 
tized as  his  insane  projects.  "  The  objects  of  my  ambition,"  he 
said,  "  have  been  vague  and  general ;  I  never  knew  exactly 
where,  or  what,  I  would  be.  Had  my  powers,  such  as  they  are, 
been  concentrated  on  one  point — had  I  formed  a  more  just  and 
modest  estimate  of  my  abilities — I  might  possibly  have  become 
something  ****** 

Besides  doctor,  I  had  no  money — no  solid  substratum  to  build 
upon ;  there  was  the  rotten  point !  O  doctor ! "  he  continued, 
with  a  deep  sigh,  "  if  I  could  but  have  seen  these  things  three 
years  ago,  as  I  see  them  now,  I  might  at  this  moment  have  been 
a  sober  and  respectable  member  of  society ;  but  now  I  am  dying 


48  DIAKT  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

■ — a  hanger-on — a  fool — a  beggar!"  and  lie  burst  into  tears. 
"  You,  doctor,"  he  presently  continued,  "  are  accustomed,  I 
suppose,  to  listen  to  these  deathbed  repinings — these  soul- 
scourgings — these  wailings  over  a  badly-spent  life !  Oh  yes ; 
as  I  am  nearing  eternity  I  seem  to  look  at  things — at  my  own 
mind  and  heart,  especially — through  the  medium  of  a  strange, 
searching,  unearthly  light!  Oh!  how  many,  many  things  it 
makes  distinct,  which  I  would  fain  have  forgotten  for  ever !  Do 
you  recollect  the  terrible  language  of  Scripture,  doctor,  which 
compares  the  human  breast  to  a  cage  of  unclean  birds  f  " — I  left 
him  that  evening  deeply  convinced  of  the  compulsory  truths  he 
had  uttered ;  I  never  thought  so  seriously  before.  It  is  some 
Scotch  divine  who  has  said,  that  one  deathbed  preaches  a  more 
startling  sermon  than  a  bench  of  bishops. 

******* 

Mr was  an  excellent  and  thorough  Greek  scholar,  per- 
fectly well  versed  in  the  Greek  dramatists,  and  passionately 
fond,  in  particular,  of  Sophocles.  I  recollect  his  reciting,  one 
evening,  with  great  force  and  feeling,  the  touching  exclamation 
of  the  chorus,  in  the  CEdipus  Tyranmis — 

<pegcii  vrj/nara,, 
voasT  di  [loi  TjoVas  oToXos, 
ovh'  til  (ppovTibog  iyy^og 
w  rig  aki^irai*  &c. 

167-172. 

— which,  he  said,  was  never  absent  from  his  mind,  sleeping  or 
waking.  I  once  asked  him,  if  he  did  not  regret  having  devoted 
his  life  almost  exclusively  to  the  study  of  the  classics.  He 
replied,  with  enthusiasm,  "  No,  doctor — no,  no !  I  should  be 
an  ingrate  if  I  did.  How  can  I  regret  having  lived  in  constant 
converse,  through  their  works,  with  the  greatest  and  noblest  men 
that  ever  breathed !  I  have  lived  in  Elyyium — have  breathed 
the  celestial  air  of  those  hallowed  plains,  while  engaged  in  the 

*  Ah  me  1  I  groan  teneath  the  pressure  of  innumerahle  sorrows ;  truly  my 
substance  is  languishing  away,  nor  can  I  devise  any  means  of  bettering  my  con* 
dition,  or  discover  any  source  of  consolation. 


A  scholar's  deathbed. CHAPTER  IV.  49 

Study  of  the  philosophy  and  poetry  of  Greece  and  Rome.  Yes, 
it  is  a  consolation  even  for  my  bitter  and  premature  deathbed, 
to  think  that  my  mind  will  quit  this  wretched,  diseased,  unworthy 
body,  imbued  with  the  refinement — redolent  of  the  eternal  fresh- 
ness and  beauty  of  the  most  exquisite  poetry  and  philosophy  the 
world  ever  saw !  With  my  faculties  quickened  and  strength- 
ened, I  shall  go  confidently,  and  claim  kindred  with  the  great 
ones  of  Eternity.  They  know  I  love  their  works — have  con- 
sumed all  the  oil  of  my  life  in  their  study,  and  they  will  welcome 

their  son — their  disciple."    Ill  as  he  was,  Mr uttered  these 

sentiments  (as  nearly  as  I  can  recollect,  in  the  very  words  I  have 
given)  with  an  energy,  an  enthusiasm,  and  an  eloquence,  which 
I  never  saw  surpassed.  He  faltered  suddenly,  however,  from 
this  lofty  pitch  of  excitement,  and  complained  bitterly  that  his 
devotion  to  ancient  literature  had  engendered  a  morbid  sensi- 
bility, which  had  rendered  him  totally  unfit  for  the  ordinary 
business  of  life,  or  intermixture  with  society.       *       *       * 

Often  I  found  him  sitting  up  in  bed,  and  reading  his  favourite 
play,  the  Prometheus  Vinctus  of  JEschylus,  while  his  pale  and 
wasted  features  glowed  with  delighted  enthusiasm.  He  told  me, 
that,  in  his  estimation,  there  was  an  air  of  grandeur  and  romance 
about  that  play,  such  as  was  not  equalled  by  any  of  the  produc- 
tions of  the  other  Greek  dramatists ;  and  that  the  opening 
dialogue  was  peculiarly  impressive  and  aflecting.  He  had  com- 
mitted to  memory  nearly  three-fourths  of  the  whole  play !  I  on 
one  occasion  asked  him,  how  it  came  to  pass,  that  a  person  of 
his  superior  classical  attainments  had  not  obtained  some  toler- 
ably lucrative  engagement  as  an  usher  or  tutor  ?  He  answered, 
with  rather  a  haughty  air,  that  he  would  rather  have  broken 
stones  on  the  highway.  "  To  hear,"  said  he,  "  the  magnificent 
language  of  Greece,  the  harmonious  cadences  of  the  Romans, 
mangled  and  disfigured  by  stupid  lads  and  duller  ushers — oh  !  it 
would  have  been  such  a  profanation  as  the  sacred  groves  of  old 
suffered,  when  their  solemn  silence  was  disturbed  by  a  rude 
unhallowed  throng  of  Bacchanalians.  I  should  have  expired, 
doctor ! "  I  told  him,  I  could  not  help  lamenting  such  an  absurd 
and  morbid  sensitiveness ;  at  which  he  seemed  exceedingly 
piqued.     He  possibly  thought  I  should  rather  have  admired 

1.  D 


50  DIAET  or  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

than  reprobated  the  lofty  tone  he  assumed.  I  asked  him  if  the 
stations,  of  which  he  spoke  with  such  supercilious  contempt,  had 
not  been  joyfully  occupied  by  some  of  the  greatest  scholars  that 
had  ever  lived?  He  replied  simply,  with  a  cold  air,  that  it  was  his 
misfortune,  not  his  fault.  He  told  me,  however,  that  his  classical 
acquirements  had  certainly  been  capable  of  something  like  a 
profitable  employment;  for  that,  about  two  months  before  he 
had  called  on  me,  he  had  nearly  come  to  terms  with  a  bookseller, 
for  publishing  a  poetical  version  of  the  comedies  of  Aristophanes; 
that  he  had  nearly  completed  one,  the  NEOEA AI,  if  I  recollect 
right,  when  the  great  difficulty  of  the  task,  and  the  wretched 
remuneration  offered,  so  dispirited  him,  that  he  threw  it  aside 
in  disgust.*  His  only  means  of  subsistence  had  been  the  sorry 
pay  of  an  occasional  reader  for  the  press,  as  well  as  a  contributor 
to  the  columns  of  a  daily  paper.  He  had  parted  with  almost 
the  whole  of  his  slender  stock  of  books,  his  watch,  and  all  his 
clothes,  except  what  he  wore  when  he  called  on  me.  "  Did  you 
never  try  any  of  the  magazines  ?"  I  enquired ;  "  for  they  afford 
to  young  men  of  talent  a  fair  livelihood."  He  said  he  had  indeed 
struggled  hard  to  gain  a  footing  in  one  of  the  popular  periodicals, 
but  that  his  communications  were  invariably  returned  "  with 

*  Among  his  papers  I  found  the  following  spirited  and  close  version  of  one 
of  the  choral  odes  in  the  Nuhes,  commencing, 

Afi(pi  fioi  ctiiri  <l>o;/3'  «ya| 
Atjysi,  &c. 

Thee,  too,  great  Phoebus  I  I  invoke, 

Thou  Dalian  King, 
Who  dwell" St  on  Cynthia's  lofty  rock 
Thy  passage  hither  wing, 
Blest  Goddess  I  whom  Ephesian  splendours  hold 
In  temples  bright  with  gold, 

'Mid  Lydian  maidens  nobly  worshipping  I 
And  thee,  our  native  deity, 

Pallas,  our  city's  guardian,  thou  I 
Who  wields  the  dreadful  ^gis.     Thee, 
Thee,  too,  gay  Bacchus,  from  Parnassian  height. 
Ruddy  with  festive  torches'  glow — 
To  crown  the  sacred  choir,  I  thee  invite  I 

Those  who  are  conversant  vrith  the  original,  wiU  perceive  that  many  of  the 
di  IDcult  Greek  expressions  are  rendered  into  literal  English. 


A  scholar's  deathbed. CHAPTER  IV.  51 

polite  acknowledgments."  One  of  these  notes  1  saw,  aiid  have 
now  in  my  possession.     It  was  thus  : — 

"  Mr  M' begs  to  return  the  enclosed   '  Remarks  on 

English  Versions  of  Euripides,'  with  many  thanks  for  the  writer's 

polite  offer  of  it  to  the  E M ;  but  fears  that,  though  an 

able  performance,  it  is  not  exactly  suited  for  the  readers  of  the 
E M . 

"  To  A  A." 

A  series  of  similar  disappointments,  and  the  consequent 
poverty  and  embarrassment  into  which  he  sank,  had  gradually 
undermined  a  constitution  naturally  feeble ;  and  he  told  me  with 
much  agitation,  that  had  it  not  been  for  the  trifling,  but  timely 
assistance  of  myself  and  family,  he  saw  no  means  of  escaping 
literal  starvation  !  Could  I  help  sympathizing  deeply  with  him? 
Alas  !  his  misfortunes  were  very  nearly  paralleled  by  my  own. 
While  listening  to  his  melancholy  details,  I  seemed  living  over 
again  the  four  first  wretched  years  of  my  professional  career. 
»♦**•*» 
I  must  hasten,  however,  to  the  closing  scene.     I  had  left  word 

with  the  nurse,  that  when  Mr appeared  dying,  I  should  be 

instantly  summoned.  About  five  o'clock  in  the  evening  of  the 
6th  July  18 — ,  I  received  a  message  from  Mr himself,  say- 
ing that  he  wished  to  breathe  his  last  in  my  presence,  as  the  only 
friend  he  had  on  earth.  Unavoidable  and  pressing  professional 
engagements  detained  me  until  half-past  six ;  and  it  was  seven 
o'clock  before  I  reached  his  bedside. 

"  Lord,  Lord,  doctor,  poor  Mr is  dying  sure !"  exclaimed 

the  woman  of  the  house,  as  she  opened  the  door.  "  Mrs  Jones 
says  he  has  been  picking  and  clawing  the  bed-clothes  awfully, 
so  he  must  be  dying ! "  *    On  entering  the  room,  I  found  he  had 

•  This  very  prevalent  but  absurd  notion  is  not  confined  to  the  vulgar ;  and 
as  I  have,  in  the  course  of  my  practice,  met  with  hundreds  of  respectable  and 
intelligent  people,  who  have  held  that  a  patient's  *^ picking  and  clawing  the  bed- 
clothes" is  a  symptom  of  death,  and  who,  consequently,  view  it  with  a  kind  of 
superstitious  horror,  I  cannot  refrain  from  explaining  the  philosophy  of  it  in 
the  simple  and  satisfactory  words  of  ilr  C.  Bell : — f 

"  It  is  very  common,"  he  says,  "  to  see  the  patient  picking  the  bed-dotlies,  or 

t  Now  Sir  Charles  Bell. 


'>2  DIARY  OF  A  I.ATE  PHYSICIAN. 

dropt  asleep.  The  nurse  told  me  he  had  been  wandering  a  good 
deal  in  his  mind.  I  asked  what  he  had  talked  about  ?  '■'■Laming, 
doctor,"  she  replied,  "  and  a  proud  young  lady."  I  sat  do-wn 
by  his  bedside.  I  saw  the  dews  of  death  were  stealing  rapidly 
over  him.  His  eyes,  which  were  naturally  very  dark  and  piercing, 
were  now  far  sunk  into  their  sockets  ;  his  cheeks  were  hollow, 
and  his  hair  matted  with  perspiration  over  his  damp  and  paUid 
forehead.  While  I  was  gazing  silently  on  the  melancholy  spec- 
tacle, and  reflecting  what  great  but  undisciplined  powers  of  mind 

were  dbout  soon  to  be  disunited  from  the  body,  Mr opened 

his  eyes,  and,  seeing  me,  said  in  a  low,  but  clear  and  steady  tone 
of  voice — "  Doctor — the  last  act  of  the  tragedy."  He  gave  me 
his  hand.  It  was  all  he  could  do  to  lift  it  into  mine.  I  could 
not  speak — the  tears  were  nearly  gushing  forth.  I  felt  as  if  I 
were  gazing  on  my  dying  son. 

"  I  have  been  dreaming,  doctor,  since  you  went,"  said  he, 
"  and  what  do  you  think  about  ?  I  thought  I  had  squared  the 
circle,  and  was  to  perish  for  ever  for  my  discovery." 

"  I  hope,  Mr ,"  I  replied,  in  a  serious  tone,  and  with 

something  of  displeasure  in  my  manner — "  I  hope  that,  at  this 
awful  moment,  you  have  more  suitable  and  consolatory  thoughts 
to  occupy  your  mind  with  than  those  ?  "  He  sighed.  "  The  cler- 
gyman you  were  so  good  as  to  send  me,"  he  said,  after  a  pause, 
"  was  here  this  afternoon.  He  is  a  good  man,  I  dare  say,  but 
weak,  and  has  his  head  stuffed  with  the  quibbles  of  the  schools. 
He  wanted  to  discuss  the  question  oi  free-will  yi\X\\  a  dying  man, 
doctor !" 

"  I  hope  he  did  not  leave  you  without  administering  the  ordi- 
nances of  religion?"  I  enquired. 


catching  at  the  empty  air.  This  proceeds  from  an  appearance  of  motes  or  fiiti 
passing  before  the  eyes,  and  is  occasioned  hy  an  affection  of  the  retina,  pro- 
ducing in  it  a  sensation  similar  to  that  produced  hy  the  impression  of  images; 
and  wliat  is  deficient  in  sensation,  the  imagination  supplies :  for  although  the 
resemblance  betwixt  those  diseased  affections  of  the  retina,  and  the  sensation 
conveyed  to  the  brain  may  be  very  remote,  yet,  by  that  slight  resemblance,  the 
idea  usually  associated  with  the  sensation  will  be  excited  in  the  mind."— ft"'' 
Anatorny,  vol.  iii.  pp.  57,  58. 

The  secret  lies  in  a  disordered  circulation  of  the  blood,  forcing  the  red  ?*>■ 
lula  into  the  minute  vessels  of  the  retina. 


A  scholar's  deathbed. CHAPTER  IV.  53 

"  He  read  me  some  of  the  church  prayers,  which  were  ex- 
quisitely touching'  and  beautiful,  and  the  fifteenth  chapter  of 
Corinthians,  which  is  very  sublime.  He  could  not  help  giving 
me  a  rehearsal  of  what  he  was  shortly  to  repeat  over  my  grave!" 
exclaimed  the  dying  man,  with  a  melancholy  smile.  I  felt  some 
irritation  at  the  light  tone  of  his  remarks,  but  concealed  it. 

"You  received  the  sacrament,  I  hope,  Mr ?"  He  pau- 
sed a  few  moments,  and  his  brow  was  clouded.  "  No,  doctor, 
to  tell  the  truth,  I  declined  it " 

"  Declined  the  sacrament !  "  I  exclaimed,  with  surprise. 

"  Yes — but  dear  doctor,  I  beg— I  entreat  you  not  to  ask  me 

about  it  any  further,"  replied  Mr gloomily,  and  lapsed 

into  a  fit  of  abstraction  for  some  moments.  Unnoticed  by  him, 
I  despatched  the  nurse  for  another  clergyman,  an  excellent  and 
learned  man,  who  was  my  intimate  friend.  I  was  gazing  earn- 
estly on  Mr  — ■■ — ,  as  he  lay  with  closed  eyes  ;  and  was  surprised 
to  see  the  tears  trickling  from  them. 

"  Mr ,  you  have  nothing,  I  hope,  on  your  mind,  to  render 

your  last  moments  unhappy?"     I  asked  in  a  gentle  tone. 

"  No — nothing  material,"  he  replied,  with  a  deep  sigh ;  con- 
tinuing with  his  eyes  closed,  "  I  was  only  thinking  what  a  bitter 
thing  it  is  to  be  struck  down  so  soon  from  among  the  bright 
throng  of  the  living — to  leave  this  fair,  this  beautiful  world, 
after  so  short  and  sorrowful  a  sojourn.  Oh,  it  is  hard !  "  He 
shortly  opened  his  eyes.  His  agitation  had  apparently  passed 
away,  and  delirium  was  hovering  over  and  disarranging  his 
thoughts. 

"  Doctor,  doctor,  what  a  strange  passage  that  is,"  said  he 
suddenly,  startling  me  with  his  altered  voice,  and  the  dreamy 
thoughtful  expression  of  his  eyes,  "  in  the  chorus  of  the  Medea — 

"Avw  irorafiMV  iiguv  yjagoXiGi  nrayal 
Tiai  SiKot,  xal  'xdvra,  TaXiv  er^iftra,!.* 

Is  not  there  something  very  mysterious  and  romantic  about  these 
lines?  I  could  never  exactly  understand  what  was  meant  by 
them."  Finding  I  continued  silent — for  I  did  not  wish  to  encour- 

»  Eurip.  Med.  411-13. 


54  DIABT  or  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

age  his  indulging  in  a  train  of  thought  so  foreign  to  his  situa- 
tion — he  kept  murmuring  at  intervals,  metrically, 

av(a  vorafMuv  ii^oov, 

in  a  most  melancholy  monotony.  He  then  wandered  on  from 
one  topic  of  classical  literature  to  another,  till  he  suddenly 
stopped  short,  and  turning  to  me,  said,  "  Doctor,  I  am  raving  very 
absurdly ;  I  feel  I  am  ;  but  I  cannot  dismiss  from  my  thoughts, 
even  though  I  know  I  am  dying,  the  subjects  about  which 
my  mind  has  been  occupied  nearly  all  my  life  through.  Oh!" 
changing  the  subject  abruptly — "  tell  me,  doctor,  do  those  who 
die  of  my  disorder  generally  continue  in  the  possession  of  their 
intellects  to  the  last?  "    I  told  him  I  thought  they  generally  did. 

"  Then  I  shall  burn  brightly  to  the  last !  Thank  God  !— 
And  yet,"  with  a  shudder,  "  it  is  shocking,  too,  to  find  one's-self 

gradually  ceasing  to  exist Doctor,  I  shall  recover. — I  am  sure 

I  should  if  you  were  to  bleed  me,"  said  he.  His  intellects  were 
wandering. 

The  nurse  now  returned,  and,  to  my  vexation,  unaccompanied 

by  Dr ,  who  had  gone  that  morning  into  the  country.    I 

did  not  send  for  any  one  else.  His  frame  of  mind  was  peculiar, 
and  very  unsatisfactory ;  but  I  thought  it,  on  the  whole,  better 
not  to  disturb  or  irritate  him  by  alluding  to  a  subject  he  evi- 
dently disliked.  I  ordered  candles  to  be  brought,  as  it  was  now 
nearly  nine  o'clock.  "  Doctor,"  said  the  dying  young  man,  in  a 
feeble  tone,  "  I  think  you  will  find  a  copy  of  Lactantius  lying 
on  my  table.  He  has  been  a  great  favourite  with  me.  May  I 
trouble  you  to  read  me  a  passage — the  eighth  chapter  of  the 
seventh  book — on  the  immortality  of  the  soul  ?  I  should  like 
to  die  thoroughly  convinced  of  that  noble  truth— if  truth  it  is— 
and  I  have  often  read  that  chapter  with  much  satisfaction."  I 
went  to  the  table,  and  found  the  book — a  pocket  copy — the 
leaves  of  which  were  ready  turned  down  to  the  very  page  I 
wanted.  I  therefore  read  to  him,  slowly  and  emphatically,  the 
whole  of  the  eighth  and  ninth  chapters,  beginning,  "  Nam  est 
igitur  summum  honum  immortalitas,  ad  quam  capiendam^  etfor- 
mati  a  principio,  et  nati  sumus."  When  I  had  got  as  far  as  the 
allusion  to  the  vacillating  view  of  Cicero,  Mr repeated  with 


A  scholar's  deathbed. CHAPTER  IV.  55 

me,  sighing,  the  words,  "  harum  inquit  sententiarum,  quce  vera 
sit,  Dens  aliquis  viderit." — As  an  instance  of  the 

Ruling  passion,  strong  in  death, 

I  may  mention,  though  somewliat  to  my  own  discredit,  that  he 
briskly  corrected  a  false  quantity  which  slipped  from  me. 
"Allow  me,  doctor — '■  expetit,'  not  '■  expetity  He  made  no 
other  observation,  when  I  had  concluded  reading  the  chapter 
from  Lactantius,  than,  "  I  certainly  wish  I  had  early  formed 
fixed  principles  on  religious  subjects — but  it  is  now  too  late." 
He  then  dropped  asleep,  but  presently  began  murmuring  very 
sorrowfully — "Emma,  Emma!  haughty  one!  Not  one  look? — 
I  am  dying — and  you  don't  know  it— nor  care  for  me !  *  * 
How  beautiful  she  looked  stepping  from  the  carriage !  How 
magnificently  dressed !  I  think  she  saw — why  can't  she  love  me  I 
She  cannot  love  somebody  else — No — madness — no!"  In  this 
strain  he  continued  soliloquizing  for  some  minutes  longer.  It 
was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  heard  any  thing  of  the  kind  fall  from 
him.  At  length  he  asked,  "  I  wonder  if  they  ever  came  to  her 
hands  ? "  as  if  striving  to  recollect  something.  The  nurse 
whispered  that  she  had  often  heard  him  talk  in  the  night-time 
about  this  lady,  and  that  he  would  go  on  till  he  stopped  in  tears. 
I  discovered,  from  a  scrap  or  two  found  among  his  papers,  after 
his  decease,  that  the  person  he  addressed  as  Emma,  was  a  young 
lady  in  the  higher  circles  of  society,  of  considerable  beauty, 
whom  he  first  saw  by  accident,  and  fancied  she  had  a  regard  for 
him.  He  had,  in  turn,  indulged  in  the  most  extravagant  and 
hopeless  passion  for  her.  He  suspected  himself,  that  she  was 
wholly  unconscious  of  being  the  object  of  his  almost  frenzied 
admiration.  When  he  was  asking  "  if  something  came  to  her 
hands,"  I  have  no  doubt  he  alluded  to  some  copy  of  verses  he 
had  sent  to  her,  of  which  the  following  fragments,  written  in 
pencil,  on  a  blank  leaf  of  his  Aristophanes,  probably  formed  a 
part.     There  is  some  merit  in  them,  but  more  extravagance. 

I  could  go  througli  the  world  with  thee, 
To  spend  with  thee  eternity  I 
•  •  «  • 

To  see  thy  Wue  and  passionate  eye 
Light  on  another  scornfully, 


56  DIA.RY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

But  fix  its  melting  glance  ou  me, 
And  blend ■ 

Kead  the  poor  heart  that  throbs  for  thee, 
Imprint  all  o'er  with  thy  dear  name — 
Yet  withering  'neath  a  lonely  flame, 
That  warms  thee  not,  yet  me  consumes ! 

«  *  «  * 

Ay,  I  would  haye  thee  all  my  own, 
Thy  love,  thy  life,  mine,  mine  alone ; 
See  nothing  in  the  world  but  me. 
Since  nought  I  know,  or  love,  but  thee! 

The  eyes  that  on  a  thousand  fall, 
I  would  collect  their  glances  all. 
And  fling  their  lustre  on  my  soul, 
TiU  it  imbibed,  absorb'd  the  whole. 

These  are  folio-wed  by  several  more  lines  ;  but  the  above  will 
suffice.  This  insane  attachment  was  exactly  what  I  might  have 
expected  from  one  of  his  ardent  and  enthusiastic  temperament. 
To  return,  however,  once  more.  Towards  eleven  o'clock,  he 
began  to  fail  rapidly.  I  had  my  fingers  on  his  pulse,  which  beat 
very  feebly,  almost  imperceptibly.  He  opened  his  eyes  slowly, 
and  gazed  upwards  with  a  vacant  air. 

"  Why  are  you  taking  the  candles  away,  nurse  ?  "  he  enquired 
faintly.  They  had  not  been  touched.  His  cold  fingers  gently 
compressed  ray  hand — they  were  stiifening  with  death.  "  Don't, 
dorCt  put  the  candles  out,  doctor,"  he  commenced  again,  looking 
at  me,  with  an  eye  on  which  the  thick  mists  and  shadows  of  the 
grave  were  settling  fast — they  were  filmy  and  glazed. 

"  Don't  blow  them  out — don't — don't ! "  he  again  exclaimed, 
almost  inaudibly. 

"  No,  we  will  not !  My  dear  Mr -,  both  candles  are  burn- 
ing brightly  beside  you  on  the  table,"  I  replied  tremulously— for 
I  saw  the  senses  were  forgetting  their  functions — that  life  and 
consciousness  were  fast  retiring ! 

"  Well,"  he  murmured  almost  inarticulately,  "  I  am  now  quite 
in  darkness  !  Oh,  there  is  something  at  my  heart — cold,  cold  ! 
Doctor,  keep  them  off!  *   Why — O  death ! " — He  ceased.    He  had 

•  I  once  before  heard  these  strange  words  fall  from  the  lips  of  a  dying  patient 
—a  lady.     To  me  they  suggest  very  unpleasant,  I  may  say  fearful  thoughts, 
What  is  to  be  kept  off? 
[This  note  has  called  forth  an  angi-y  commentary  from  the  able  editor  of  the 


PREPARING  FOR  THE  HOUSE. CHAPTER  V.  57 

spoken  his  last  on  earth.  The  intervals  of  respiration  became 
gradually  longer  and  longer ;  and  the  precise  moment  when  he 
ceased  to  breathe  at  all  could  not  be  ascertained.  Yes ;  it  was  all 
over.     Poor  Mr was  dead.     I  shall  never  forget  him. 


CHAPTER   V. 

PEEPAEING  FOB  THE  HOUSE  1 

"  Do,  dear  doctor,  be  so  good  as  to  drop  in  at Place,  in 

the  course  of  the  morning,  by  accident — for  I  want  you  to  see 

Mr .     He  has,  I  verily  believe,  bid  adieu  to  his  senses,  for 

he  is  conducting  himself  very  strangely.  To  tell  you  the  truth, 
he  is  resolved  on  going  down  to  the  House  this  evening,  for  the 

purpose  of  speaking  on  the Bill,  and  will,  I  fear,  act  so 

absurdly,  as  to  make  himself  the  laughing-stock  of  the  whole 
country — at  least  I  suspect  as  much,  from  what  I  have  heard  of 

his  preparations.     Ask  to  be  shown  up  at  once  to  Mr 

when  you  arrive,  and  gradually  direct  the  conversation  to  poli- 
tics— when  you  will  soon  see  what  is  the  matter.  But  mind, 
doctor,  not  a  word  of  this  note !  Your  visit  will  be  quite  acci- 
denial,  you  know.  Believe  me,  my  dear  doctor,  yours,"  &c. 
&c.  Such  was  the  note  put  into  my  hands  by  a  servant,  as  my 
carriage  was  driving  off  on  my  first  morning  round.     I  knew 

Mrs ,  the  fair  writer  of  it,  very  intimately — as,  indeed,  the 

familiar  and  confidential  strain  of  her  note  will  suffice  to  show. 
She  was  a  very  amiable  and  clever  woman,  and  would  not  have 

Spectator  newspaper,  who  heads  the  paragraph  of  which  I  complain,  with  the 
words — "Injudicious  Sanction  of  Superstitious  Terrors,'^  I  feel  satisfied  that  the 
writer,  on  a  reconsideration  of  what  he  has  there  expressed,  will  he  disposed  to 
withdraw  his  censures.  True — a  dying  man  may  often  utter  "unintelligible 
gibberish  ;'"  but  if  we  find  several  dying  persons,  of  different  characters  and  situa- 
tions, concur  in  uttering,  in  their  last  moments,  the  same  vjords — is  it  so  unwar- 
rantable for  an  observer  to  hazard  an  enquiry  concerning  their  possible  import  ? 
There  is  a  lecture  of  Sir  Henry  Halford,  lately  published,  which  contains  some 
highly  pertinent  and  interesting  obserTations  on  the  subject.  I  beg  to  refer  the 
reader  to  it.] 


58  DIAKT  OF  A  rATE  PHTSICIAK. 

complained,  I  was  sure,  without  reason.  Wishing,  therefore, 
to  oblige  her,  by  a  prompt  attention  to  her  request,  and  in  the 
full  expectation,  from  what  I  knew  of  the  worthy  member's 
eccentricities,  of  encountering  some  singular  scene,  I  directed 

the  horses'  heads  to  be  turned  towards Place.     I  reached 

the  house  about  twelve  o'clock,  and  went  up  stairs  at  once  to 

the  drawing-room,  where  I  understood  Mr had  taken  up 

quarters  for  the  day.  The  servant  opened  the  door  and  an- 
nounced me. 

"  Oh !   show  Dr  in."     I  entered.     The  object  of  my 

visit,  I  may  just  say,  was  the  very  beau  ideal  of  a  county  mem- 
ber ;  somewhat  inclined  to  corpulency,  with  a  fine,  fresh,  rubi- 
cund, good-natured  face,  and  that  bluff  old  English  frankness  of 
manner,  which  flings  you  back  into  the  age  of  Sir  Roger  de 
Coverley.  He  was  dressed  in  a  long,  grey,  woollen  morning- 
gown  ;  and,  with  his  hands  crammed  into  the  hind  pockets,  was 
pacing  rapidly  to  and  fro  from  one  end  of  the  spacious  room  to 
the  other.  At  one  extremity  was  a  table,  on  which  lay  a  sheet 
of  foolscap,  closely  written,  and  crumpled  as  if  with  constant 
handling,  his  gold  repeater,  and  a  half-emptied  decanter  of 
sherry,  with  a  wine-glass.     A  glance  at  all  these  paraphernalia 

convinced  me  of  the  nature  of  Mr ^"s  occupation ;  he  was 

committing  his  speech  to  memory ! 

"How  d'ye  do,  how  d'ye  do,  doctor?"  he  exclaimed,  in  a 
hearty  but  hurried  tone;  "  you  must  not  keep  me  long:  busy — 
very  busy  indeed,  doctor."  I  had  looked  in  by  accident,  I  told 
him,  and  did  not  intend  to  detain  him  an  instant.  I  remarked 
that  I  supposed  he  was  busy  preparing  for  the  House. 

"  Ah,  right,  doctor — right !     Ay,  by !  and  a  grand  hit 

it  will  be,  too  ! — I  shall  peg  it  into  them  to-night,  doctor  !  I'll 
let  them  know  what  an  English  county  member  is  !  I'll  make 

the  House  too  hot  to  hold  them ! "  said  Mr ,  walking  to  and 

fro,  at  an  accelerated  pace.  He  was  evidently  boiling  over  with 
excitement. 

"  You  are  going  to  speak  to-night,  then,  on  the  great 

question,  I  suppose?"  said  I,  hardly  able  to  repress  a  smile. 

"  Speak,  doctor?  I'll  burst  on  them  witli  such  a  view-halloo 
as  shall  startle  the  whole  pack  !  Til  show  my  Lord what 


PREPAEING  FOR  THE  HODSE. — CHAPTER  V.  59 

kind  of  stuft'  Fm  made  of — I  will,  by !  He  was  pleased  to 

tell  the  House,  the  other  evening — curse  his  impudence ! — that 
the  two  members  for shire  were  a  mere  couple  of  dumb- 
bells— he  did,  by !     But  Fll  show  him  whether  or  not  /, 

for  one  of  them,  am  to  be  jeered  and  flammed  with  impunity ! 
Ha  !  doctor,  what  d'ye  think  of  this  ?  "  said  he,  hurrying  to  the 
table,  and  taking  up  the  manuscript  I  have  mentioned.  He  was 
going  to  read  it  to  me,  but  suddenly  stopped  short,  and  laid  it 
down  again  on  the  table,  exclaiming — "  Nay,  I  must  know  it 
ofiF  by  this  time — so  listen  !  have  at  ye,  doctor ! " 

After  a  pompous  hem !  hem !  he  commenced,  and  with  infinite 
energy  and  boisterousness  of  manner  recited  the  whole  oration. 
It  was  certainly  a  wonderful — a  matchless  performance — par- 
celled out  with  a  rigid  adherence  to  the  rules  of  ancient  rhetoric. 
As  he  proceeded,  he  recited  such  astounding  absurdities — such 
preposterous  Bombastes-Furioso  declamations — as,  had  they  been 
uttered  in  the  House,  would  assuredly  have  procured  the  trium- 
phant speaker  six  or  seven  rounds  of  convulsive  laughter !  Had 
I  not  known  well  the  simplicity  and  sincerity — the  perfect  ion- 

Jiomie — of  Mr ,  [  should  have  supposed  he  was  hoaxing  me  ; 

but  I  assuredly  suspected  he  was  himself  the  hoaxed  party — the 
joking-post  of  some  witty  wag,  who  had  determined  to  aiford  the 

House  a  night's  sport  at  poor  Mr  's  expense !  Indeed,  I 

never  in  my  life  listened  to  such  pitifully  puerile — such  almost 
idiotic  galUmatia.     I  felt  certain  it  could  never  have  been  the 

composition  of  fox-hunting  Mr !  There  was  a  hackneyed 

quotation  from  Horace — from  the  Septuagint,  (!)  and  from 
Locke  ;  and  then  a  scampering  through  the  whole  flowery  realms 
of  rhetorical  ornament — and  a  glancing  at  every  topic  of  foreign 
or  domestic  policy  that  could  conceivably  attract  the  attention 
of  the  most  erratic  fancy.  In  short,  there  surely  never  before 
was  such  a  speech  composed  since  the  world  began !  And  this 

was  the  sort  of  thing  that  poor  Mr actually  intended  to 

deliver  that  memorable  evening  in  the  House  of  Commons !  As 
for  myself,  I  could  not  control  my  risible  faculties ;  but  accom- 
panied the  peroration  with  a  perfect  shout  of  laughter !  Mr 

laid  down  the  paper  (which  he  had  twisted  into  a  sort  of  scroll) 
in  an  ecstasy,  and  joined  me  in  full  chorus,  slapping  me  on  the 


60  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

shoulder,  and  exclaiming — "  Ah !  d ■  it !  doctor,  I  knew  you 

would  like  it !  It's  just  the  thing — isn't  it  ?  There  will  be  no 

standing  me  at  the  next  election  for shire,  if  I  can  only 

deliver  all  this  in  the  House  to-night !  Old  Turnpenny,  that's 
going  to  start  against  me,  backed  by  the  manufacturing  interest, 
won't  come  up — and  you  see  if  he  does  ! — Curse  it !  I  thought 
it  was  in  me,  and  would  come  out  some  of  these  days.     They 

shall  have  it  all  to-night — they  shall,  by !  Only  be  on  the 

look-out  for  the  morning  papers,  doctor — that's  all ! "  and  he  set 
off,  walking  rapidly,  with  long  strides,  from  one  end  of  the  room 
to  the  other.     I  began  to  be  apprehensive  that  there  was  too 

much  ground  for  Mrs 's  suspicions,  that  he  had  literally 

"  taken  leave  of  his  senses."  Recollecting,  at  length,  the  object 
of  my  visit,  which  the  amusing  exhibition  I  have  been  attempt- 
ing to  describe  had  almost  driven  from  my  memory,  I  endea- 
voured to  think,  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  of  some  scheme  for 
diverting  him  from  his  purpose,  and  preventing  the  lamentable 
exposure  he  was  preparing  for  himself.  I  could  think  of  nothing 
else  than  attacking  him  on  the  sore  point — one  on  which  he  had 
been  hipped  for  years,  and  not  without  reason — a  hereditary 
tendency  to  apoplexy. 

"  But,  my  dear  sir,"  said  I,  "  this  excitement  will  destroy  you 
— you  will  bring  on  a  fit  of  apoplexy,  if  you  go  on  for  an  hour 
longer  in  this  way — you  will  indeed  ! "  He  stood  still,  changed 
colour  a  little,  and  stammered,  "  What !  eh,  d it ! — apo- 
plexy!— you  don't  say  so,  doctor?  Hem!  how  is  my  pulse?" 
extending  his  wrist.  I  felt  it — looked  at  my  watch,  and  shook 
my  head. 

"  Eh — what,  doctor !  Newmarket,  eh  ?  "  said  he,  with  an  alarmed 
air — meaning  to  ask  me  whether  his  pulse  was  beating  rapidly. 

"  It  is,  indeed,  Mr .    It  beats  upwards  of  one  hundred 

and  fifteen  a  minnte,"  I  replied,  still  keeping  my  fingers  at  his 
wrist,  and  my  eyes  riveted  on  my  watch — for  I  dared  not  trust 
myself  with  looking  in  his  countenance.  He  started  from  me 
without  uttering  a  syllable ;  hurried  to  the  table,  poured  out  a 
glass  of  wine,  and  gulped  it  down  instantly.  I  suppose  he 
caught  an  unfortunate  smile  or  a  smirk  on  my  face,  for  he  came 
up  to  me,  and  in  a  coaxing  but  disturbed  manner,  said — "  Now, 


PREPAEING  FOE  THE  HOUSE. CHAPTEE  V.         61 

come,  come,  doctor — doctor,  no  humbug !     I  feel  well  enough 

ail  over !     D it,  I  will  speak  in  the  House  to-night,  come 

what  may,  that's  flat!  Why,  there'll  be  a  general  election  in  a 
few  months,  and  it's  of  consequence  for  me  to  do  something — 
to  make  a  figure  in  the  House.  Besides,  it  is  a  great  constitu- 
tional"  

"  Well,  well,  Mr ,  undoubtedly  you  must  please  your- 
self," said  I  seriously;  "  but  if  a  fit  should — you'll  remember  I 
did  my  duty,  and  warned  you  how  to  avert  it ! " — "  Hem,  ahem  ! " 
he  ejaculated,  with  a  somewhat  puzzled  air.  I  thought  I  had 
succeeded  in  shaking  his  purpose.  I  was,  however,  too  sanguine 
in  my  expectations.  "  I  must  bid  you  good-morning,  doctor," 
said  he  abruptly,  "  I  must  speak !  I  will  try  it  to-night,  at  all 
events ; — but  I'll  be  calm — I  will !  And  if  I  should  die — but — 
devil  take  it — that's  impossible,  you  know  !  But  if  I  should^^ 
why,  it  will  be  a  martyr's  death ;  I  shall  die  a  patriot — ha,  ha, 
ha !  Good-morning,  doctor  ! "  He  led  me  to  the  door,  laugh- 
ing as  he  went,  but  not  so  heartily  or  boisterously  as  formerly. 
I  was  hurrying  down  stairs  when  Mr re-opened  the  draw- 
ing-room door,  and  called  out,  "  Doctor,  doctor,  just  be  so  good 
as  to  look  in  on  my  good  lady  before  you  go.  She's  somewhere 
about  the  house — in  her  boudoir,  I  dare  say.  She's  not  quite 
well  this  morning — a  fit  of  the  vapours — hem!  You  under- 
stand me,  doctor  ?  "  putting  his  finger  to  the  side  of  his  nose 
with  a  wise  air.  I  could  not  help  smiling  at  the  reciprocal 
anxiety  for  each  other's  health  simultaneously  manifested  by 
this  worthy  couple. 

"  Well,  doctor,  am  not  I  right  ? "  exclaimed  Mrs in  a 

low  tone,  opening  the  dining-room  door,  and  beckoning  me  in. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  madam.  My  interview  was  little  else  than  a 
running  commentary  on  your  note  to  me." 

"How  did  you  find  him  engaged,  doctor? — Learning  his 
speech,  as  he  calls  it — eh  ?  "  enquired  the  lady,  with  a  chagrined 
air,  which  was  heightened  when  I  recounted  what  had  passed 
up  stairs. 

"  Oh,  absurd  !  monstrous !     Doctor,  I  am  ready  to  expire 

with  vexation  to  see  Mr acting  so  foolishly ! — 'Tis  all 

owing  to  that  odious  Dr ,  our  village  rector,  who  is  up  in 


62  DIAKT  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN, 

town  now  and  an  immense  crony  of  Mr 's.     I  suspected 

there  was  something  brewing  between  them ;  for  they  have  been 
laying  their  wise  heads  together  for  a  week  past.  Did  not  he 
repeat  the  speech  to  you,  doctor  ? — the  whole  of  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,  madam,  he  did,"  I  replied,  smiling  at  the  recol- 
lection. 

"  Ah — hideous  rant  it  was,  I  dare  say  ! — I'll  tell  you  a  secret, 
doctor.  I  know  it  was  every  word  composed  by  that  abomin- 
able old  addlehead,  Dr ,  a  doodle  that  he  is! — (I  wonder 

what  brought  him  up  from  his  parish !) — And  it  is  he  that  has 

inflamed  Mr 's   fancy  with  making  '  a  great  hit '  in  the 

House,  as  they  call  it.     That  precious  piece  of  stuff  which  they 

call  a  speech,  poor  Mr has  been  learning  for  this  week 

past;  and  has  several  times  woke  me  in  the  night  with  ranting 
snatches  of  it."     I  begged  Mrs not  to  take  it  so  seriously. 

"  Now,  tell  me  candidly,  Dr ,  did  you  ever  hear  such 

horrible  nonsense  in  your  life  ?  It  is  all  that  country  parson's 
trash,  collected  by  bits  out  of  his  old  stupid  sermons !  I'm  sure 
our  name  will  run  the  gauntlet  of  all  the  papers  in  England,  for 
a  fortnight  to  come ! "  I  said,  I  was  sorry  to  be  compelled  to 
acquiesce  in  the  truth  of  what  she  was  saying. 

"  Really,"  she  continued,  pressing  her  hand  to  her  forehead, 
"  I  feel  quite  poorly  myself  with  agitation  at  the  thought  of 
to-night's  farce.  Did  you  attempt  to  dissuade  him  ?  You  might 
have  frightened  him  with  a  hint  or  two  about  his  tendency  to 
apoplexy,  you  know." 

"  I  did  my  utmost,  madam,  I  assure  you ;  and  certainly  startled 
him  not  a  little.  But,  alas!  he  rallied,  and  good-humouredly 
sent  me  from  the  room,  telling  me,  that,  if  the  effort  of  speaking 
killed  him,  he  should  share  the  fate  of  Lord  Chatham,  or  some- 
thing of  that  sort." 

"  Preposterous  ! "  exclaimed  Mrs -,  almost  shedding  tears 

with  vexation.  "  But  entre  nous,  doctor,  could  you  not  think  of 
any  thing — hem! — something  in  the  medical  way — to  prevent 
his  going  to  the  House  to-night? — A — a  sleeping  draught — 
eh,  doctor?" 

"  Really,  my  dear  madam,"  said  I  seriously,  "  I  should  not 
feel  justified  in  going  so  far  as  that." 


DUELLING. CHAPTER  VI.  63 

"  O,  dear,  dear  doctor,  -what  possible  harm  can  there  be  in 
it  ?  Do  consent  to  my  wishes  for  once,  and  I  shall  be  eternally 
obliged  to  you.  Do  order  a  simple  sleeping-draught — strong 
enough  to  keep  him  in  bed  till  five  or  six  o'clock  in  the  morning 
— and  I  will  myself  slip  it  into  his  wine  at  dinner."— In  short, 
there  was  no  resisting  the  importunities  and  distress  of  so  fine  a 

woman  as  Mrs ;  so  I  ordered  about  five-and-thirty  drops 

of  laudanum,  in  a  little  syrup  and  water.  But,  alas !  this  scheme 

was  frustrated  by  Mr 's,  two  hours  afterwards,  unexpectedly 

ordering  the  carriage  (while  Mrs was  herself  gone  to  pro- 
cure his  quietvLs),  and  leaving  word  he  should  dine  with  some 
members  that  evening  at  Brookes'.     After  all,  however,  a  lucky 

accident  accomplished  Mrs  's  wishes,  though  it  deprived 

her  husband  of  that  opportunity  of  seizing  the  laurels  of  parlia- 
mentary eloquence;  for  the  ministry,  finding  the  measure,  against 

which  Mr had  intended  to  level  his  oration,  to  be  extremely 

unpopular,  and  anticipating  that  they  should  be  dead  beat,  wisely 
postponed  it  sine  die. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


I  HAD  been  invited  by  young  Lord ,  the  nobleman  men- 
tioned in  my  first  chapter,  to  spend  the  latter  part  of  my  last 
college  vacation  with  his  lordship  at  his  shooting-box  f  in 
shire.     As  his  destined  profession  was  the  army,  he  had 

•  Tlie  melancholy  facts  on  -which  the  ensuing  narrative  is  founded,  I  find 
entered  in  the  Diary  as  far  hack  as  nearly  twenty-five  years  ago ;  and  I  am  con- 
vinced, after  some  little  enquiry,  that  there  is  no  one  now  living  whose  feelings 
could  he  shocked  hy  its  perusal. 

t — "  residences  temporaires,  nomm^es  shooting-boxes,'*  says  the  French 
Translator,  adding  in  a  note  "  Loges-de-  Chasse;  rendezvous  de  chasse."  I  can- 
not resist  transcribing  part  of  the  French  text,  in  which  I  am  made  trf  talk  thus  : 
—"  Shooting-boxes  sont  le  rendezvous  ordinaire  de  gens  de  bon  ton,  que  la  vie 
monotone  de  leurs  tourelles  gothiques,  et  la  vie  brillante  de  Londres,  ont  fa- 
tigufe,  pendante  I'^te,  et  pendant  I'hiver.    C'est  li  que  les  gouts  de  la  jeune 


64  DIARY  OF  A  lATE  PHYSICIAN. 

already  a  tolerably  numerous  retinue  of  military  friends,  several  of 

whom  were  engaged  to  join  us  on  ourarrivalat ;  so  that  we 

anticipated  a  very  gay  and  jovial  season.  Our  expectations  were 
not  disappointed.  What  with  shooting,  fishing,  and  riding 
abroad — billiards,  songs,  and  high  feeding  at  home,  our  days  and 
nights  glided  as  merrily  away  as  fun  and  frolic  could  make  them. 
One  of  the  many  schemes  of  amusement  devised  by  our  party, 
was  giving  a  sort  of  military  subscription-ball  at  the  small  town 

of ,  from  which  we  were  distant  not  more  than  four  or  five 

miles.     All  my  Lord 's  party,  of  course,  were  to  be  there, 

as  well  as  several  others  of  his  friends,  scattered  at  a  little  dis- 
tance from  him  in  the  country.     On  the  appointed  day  all  went 

off   admirably.     The    little   town    of  absolutely  reeled 

beneath  the  unusual  excitement  of  music,  dancing,  and  univer- 
sal feting.  It  was,  in  short,  a  sort  of  miniature  carnival,  which 
the  inhabi  tants,  for  several  reasons,  but  more  especially  the  melan- 
choly one  I  am  going  to  mention,  have  not  yet  forgotten.  It 
is  not  very  wonderful  that  all  the  rustic  beauty  of  the  place  was 
collected  together.  Many  a  village  belle  was  there,  in  truth  pant- 
ing and  fluttering  with  delighted  agitation  at  the  unusual 
attentions  of  their  handsome  and  agreeable  partners ;  for  there 
was  not  a  young  military  member  of  our  party  but  merited  the 
epithets.  As  for  myself,  being  cursed — as  I  once  before  hinted 
— ^with  a  very  insignificant  person,  and  not  the  most  attractive  or 
communicative  manners  ;  being  utterly  incapable  of  pouring 
that  soft,  delicious  nonsense — that  fascinating,  searching  small- 
talk,  which  has  stolen  so  often  right  through  a  lady's  ear, 
into  the  very  centre  of  her  heart;  being  no  adept,  I  say,  at  this, 
I  contented  myself  with  dancing  a  set  or  two  with  a  young 
woman  whom  nobody  else  seemed  inclined  to  lead  out,  and  con- 
tinued for  the  rest  of  the  evening,  more  a  spectator  than  a 
partaker  of  the  gayeties  of  the  scene.     There  was  one  girl  there 

noblesse  Anglaise  se  developpent  aveo  le  plus  d'energie.  Lord  Bjron,  dans 
Newstead  Abbey,  fut  un  exemple  remarquable  do  ce  genre  d'existence  pugilis. 
tique,  chasseresse,  libertine,  buveuse,  assur^meut  fort  plus  morale,  oppos^e  a 
la  delicatesse  des  moeurs,  mais  vive,  amusante,  entralnante,  etourdinante,  et  oftla 
morgue  aristocratique,  se  dfepouiUant  enfln  de  ses  prlTileges  et  de  ses  ridicules, 
rentre  dans  toute  I'independance  sauvage,  et  ne  se  distingue  de  la  roture  que  par 
rextr6me  T4h6mence  des  exces  quil'entraiuent.'' 


DUELLING. — CHAPTER  VI.  65 

— the  daughter  of  a  reputable  retired  tradesman — of  singular 
beauty,  and  known  in  the  neighbourhood  by  the  name  of  "  The 
Blve  Bell  of ."  *  Of  course  she  was  the  object  of  univer- 
sal admiration,  and  literally  besieged  the  whole  evening  with 
applications  for  the  "  honour  of  her  hand."  I  do  not  exaggerate 
when  I  say,  that  in  my  opinion  this  young  woman  was  perfectly 
beautiful.  Her  complexion  was  of  dazzling  purity  and  transpa- 
rence— her  symmetrical  features  of  a  placid  bust-like  character, 
which,  however,  would  perhaps  have  been  considered  insipid,  had 
it  not  been  for  a  brilliant  pair  of  large  languishing  blue  eyes, 
resembling 


•  blue  ■water-lilies,  when  the  breeze 


Maketh  the  crystal  waters  round  them  tremble, 

which  it  was  almost  madness  to  look  upon.  And  then  her  light 
auburn  hair,  which  hung  in  loose  and  easy  curls  on  each  cheek, 
like  soft  golden  clouds  flitting  past  the  moon !  Her  figure  was  in 
keeping  with  her  countenance — slender,  graceful,  and  delicate, 
■with  a  most  exquisitely-turned  foot  and  ankle.  I  have  spent  so 
many  words  about  her  description,  because  I  have  never  since  seen 
any  woman  that  I  thought  equalled  her ;  and  because  her  beauty 
occasioned  the  wretched  catastrophe  I  am  about  to  relate. 

She  riveted  the  attention  of  all  our  party,  except  my  young 

host.  Lord ,  who  adhered  all  the  evening  to  a  sweet  creature 

he  had  selected  on  first  entering  the  room.  I  observed,  however, 
one  of  our  party — a  dashing  young  captain  in  the  Guards,  highly 
connected,  and  of  handsome  and  prepossessing  person  and 
manners,  and  a  gentleman  of  nearly  eqvial  personal  pretensions, 

who  had  been  invited  from  Hall,  his    father's   seat— to 

exceed  every  one  present  in  their  attentions  to  sweet  Mary ; 

and,  as  she  occasionally  smiled  on  one  or  the  other  of  the  rivals, 
I  saw  the  countenance  of  either  alternately  clouded  with  displea- 
sure.    Captain was  soliciting  her  hand  for  the  last  set — a 

country  dance — when  his  rival  (whom,  for  distinction's  sake,  I 
shall  call  Trevor^  though  that  of  course  is  very  far  from  his  real 
name)  stepping  up  to  her,  seized  her  hand,  and  said,  in  rather  a 
quick  and  sharp  tone,  "  Captain ,  she  has  promised  me  the 

•  "  Suruomm^e,  la  Violette  de  Hazledan  I " — French  Translator, 
1  E 


()6  DIARY  or  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

last  set;  I  beg  therefore  you  -will  resign  her.     I  am  right,  Miss 

?  "  he  enquired  of  the  girl,  who  blushingly  replied,  "  I  think 

I  did  promise  Mr  Trevor — but  I  would  dance  with  both,  if  I 
could.  Captain,  you  are  not  angry  with  me — are  you?"  she 
smiled,  appealingly. 

"  Certainly  not,  madam,"  he  replied  with  a  peculiar  emphasis ; 
and  after  directing  an  eye,  which  kindled  like  a  star,  to  his 
more  successful  rival,  retired  haughtily  a  few  paces,  and  soon 
afterwards  left  the  room.  A  strong  conviction  seized  me,  that 
even  this  small  and  trifling  incident  would  be  attended  with 
mischief  between  those  two  fierce  and  undisciplined  spirits ;  for 
I  occasionally  saw  Mr  Trevor  turn  a  moment  from  his  beautiful 
partner,  and  cast  a  stern  enquiring  glance  round  the  room,  as  if 

in  search  of  Captain .     I  saw  he  had  noticed  the  haughty 

frown  with  which  the  captain  had  retired. 

Most  of  the  gentlemen  who  had  accompanied  Lord to 

this  ball,  were  engaged  to  dine  with  him  the  next  Sunday  even- 
ing. Mr  Trevor  and  the  captain  (who,  I  think  I  mentioned, 
was  staying  a  few  days  with  his  lordship)  would  meet  at  this 
party ;  and  I  determined  to  watch  their  demeanour.     Captain 

was   at  the  window,  when   Mr  Trevor,  on  horseback, 

attended  by  his  groom,  alighted  at  the  door;  and,  on  seeing 
who  it  was,  walked  away  to  another  part  of  the  room,  with  an 
air  of  assumed  indifference ;  but  I  caught  his  quick  and  restless 
glance  involuntarily  directed  towards  the  door  through  which 
Mr  Trevor  would  enter.  They  saluted  each  other  with  civility 
— rather  coldly,  I  thought — but  there  was  nothing  particularly 
marked  in  the  manner  of  either.  About  twenty  sat  down  to 
dinner.  All  promised  to  go  oif  well — for  the  cooking  was 
admirable,  the  wines  first-rate,  and  the  conversation  brisk  and 

various.     Captain  and  Mr  Trevor  were  seated  at  some 

distance  from  each  other — the  former  being  my  next  neighbour. 
The  cloth  was  not  removed  till  a  few  minutes  after  eight,  when 
the  dessert,  with  a  fresh  and  large  supply  of  wine,  was  intro- 
duced. The  late  ball,  of  course,  was  a  prominent  topic  of 
conversation ;  and  after  a  few  of  the  usual  bachelor  toasts  had 
been  drunk  with  noisy  enthusiasm,  and  we  all  felt  the  elevating 
influence  of  the  wine  we  had  been  drinking.  Lord motioned 


DUELLING. CHAPTER  VI.  67 

silence,  and  said — "  Now,  my  dear  fellows,  I  have  a  toast  in  my 
eye  that  will  delight  you  all — so,  bumpers,  gentlemen — bumpers! 
— up  to  the  very  brim  and  over — to  make  sure  j'our  glasses  are 
full — while  I  propose  to  you  the  health  of  a  beautiful — nay,  by 

!  the  most  beautiful  girl  we  have  any  of  us  seen  for  this 

year. — Ha !  I  see  all  anticipate  me — -so,  to  be  short,  here  is  the 

health  of  Mary ,  the  Blue  Bell  of ! "     It  was  drunk 

with  acclamation.     I  thought  I  perceived  Captain 's  hand, 

however,  shake  a  little,  as  he  lifted  his  glass  to  his  mouth. 
"  Who  is  to  return  thanks  for  her  ?  " — "  The  chosen  one,  to  be 
sure  ! " — "  Who  is  he  ?  " — "  Legs — Vise — legs — whoever  he  is  ! " 
was  shouted,  asked,  and  answered  in  a  breath.  "  Oh !  Trevor  is 
the  happy  swain — there's  no  doubt  of  that — he  monopolized  her 
all  the  evening — /could  not  get  her  hand  once!"  exclaimed  one 
near  Mr  Trevor.  "Nor  I," — "Nor  I" — echoed  several.  Mr 
Trevor  looked  with  a  delighted  and  triumphant  air  round  the 
room,  and  seemed  about  to  rise,  but  there  was  a  cry — "  No  ! — 

Trevor  is  not  the  man — I  say  Captain is  the  favourite ! " — 

"  Ay — ten  to  one  on  the  captain ! "  roared  a  young  hero  of 
Ascot.  "  Stuff — stuff"! "  muttered  the  captain,  hurriedly  cutting 
an  apple  to  fritters,  and  now  and  then  casting  a  fierce  glance 
towards  Mr  Trevor.  .  There  were  many  noisy  maintainers  of 
both  Trevor  and  the  Captain. 

"  Come,  come,  gentlemen,"  said  a  young  Cornish  baronet 
good-humouredly,  seeing  the  two  young  men  appeared  to  view 
the  affair  very  seriously,  "  the  best  way,  since  I  dare  be  sworn 
the  girl  herself  does  not  know  which  she  likes  best,  will  be  to 
toss  up  who  shall  be  given  the  credit  of  her  beau!"  A  loud 
laugh  followed  this  droll  proposal;  in  which  all  joined  except 
Trevor  and  the  Captain.     The  latter  had  poured  out  some 

claret  while  Sir was  speaking,  and  sipped  it  with  an  air^ 

of  assumed  carelessness.  I  observed,  however,  that  he  never 
removed  his  eye  from  his  glass ;  and  that  his  face  was  paie,  as 
if  from  some  strong  internal  emotion.  Mr  Trevors  demeanour, 
however,  also  indicated  considerable  embarrassment ;  but  he  was 
older  than  the  Captain,  and  had  much  more  command  of  man- 
ner. I  was  amazed,  for  my  o^'n  part,  to  see  them  take  up  such 
an  insignificant  affair  so  seriously;  but  these  things  generally 


68  DIAET  OF  A  I.ATE  PHYSICIAN. 

involve  so  much  of  the  strong  passions  of  our  youthful  nature, 
especially  our  vanity  and  jealousy,  that,  on  second  thoughts,  my 
surprise  abated. 

"  I  certainly  fancied  you  were  the  favourite,  captain ;  for  1 
saw  her  blush  with  satisfaction  when  you  squeezed  her  hand,"  I 

whispered.     "  You  are  right, ,"  he  answered,  with  a  forced 

smile.  "  I  don't  think  Trevor  can  have  any  pretensions  to  her 
favour."  The  noisiness  of  the  party  was  now  subsiding,  and, 
nobody  knew  why,  an  air  of  blank  embarrassment  seemed  to 
pervade  all  present. 

"  Upon  my  honour,  geiftlemen,  this  is  a  vastly  silly  affair 
altogether,  and  quite  unworthy  such  a  stir  as  it  has  excited," 
said  Mr  Trevor ;  "  but  as  so  much  notice  has  been  taken  of  it, 
I  cannot  help  saying,  though  it  is  childishly  absurd  perhaps, 

that  I  think  the  beautiful  '  Blue  Bell  of '  is  mine — mine 

alone !  I  believe  I  have  good  ground  for  saying  I  am  the  sole 
winner  of  the  prize,  and  have  distanced  my  military  competitor," 

continued  Mr  Trevor,  turning  to  Captain with  a  smiling 

air,  which  was  very  foreign  to  his  real  feelings,  though  his 
bright  eyes — his  debonair  demeanour — that  fascinating  ye  ne  sais 
quoi  of  his  " 

"  Trevor !  don't  be  insolent ! "  exclaimed  the  captain  sternly, 
reddening  with  passion. 

"  Insolent!  captain?"  enquired  Trevor  with  an  amazed  air — 
"  What  the  deuce  do  you  mean  ?  I'm  sure  you  don't  want  to 
quarrel  with  me — oh,  it's  impossible !    If  I  have  said  what  was 

offensive,  by ,  I  did  not  mean  it ;  and,  as  we  said  at  Rugby, 

indictum  puta — and  there's  an  end  of  it.  But  as  for  my  sweet 
little  Blue  Bell,  I  know — am  perfectly  certain — ay,  spite  of  the 
captain's  dark  looks — that  I  am  the  happy  man.  So,  gentlemen, 
de  jure  and  de  facto — for  her  I  return  you  thanks."  He  sat 
down.  There  was  so  much  kindness  in  his  manner,  and  he  had 
so  handsomely  disavowed  any  intentions  of  hurting  Captain 

's  feelings,  that  I  hoped  the  young  Hotspur  beside  me  was 

quieted.     Not  so,  however. 

"  Trevor,"  said  he,  in  a  hurried  tone,  "  you  are  mistaken — 

you  are,  by !    You  don't  know  what  passed  between  Mary 

and  myself  that  evening.     On  my  word  and  honour,  she 


DUELLING. — CIIAPTEE  VI.  69 

told  me  she  ■wished  she  could  be  ofi'  her  engagement  ■with 
you." 

"  Nonsense !  nonsense !  She  must  have  said  it  to  amuse  you. 
Captain — she  could  have  had  no  other  intention.  The  very  next 
morning  she  told  me  " 

"  The  very  next  morning ! "  shouted  Captain  ,  "  'why, 

what  the could  jou  have  -wanted  with  Mary the  next 

morning?" 

"  That  is  my  affair,  captain — not  yours.  And  since  you  will 
have  it  out,  I  tell  you  for  your  consolation,  that  Mary  and  I 
have  met  every  day  since ! "  said  Mr  Trevor  loudly — even  vehe- 
mently. He  was  getting  a  YitiXe  flustered,  as  the  phrase  is,  ■with 
wine,  which  he  was  pouring  down  glass  after  glass,  else,  of 
course,  he  could  never  have  made  such  an  absurd — such  an 
unusual  disclosure.  « 

'•Trevor,  I  must  say  you  act  very  meanly  in  telling  us — if  it 
really  is  so,"  said  the  captain,  with  an  intensely  chagrined  and 
mortified  air ;  "  and  if  you  intend  to  ruin  that  sweet  and  inno- 
cent creature,  I  shall  take  leave  to  say,  that  you  are  a — a — a — 
curse  on  it,  it  will  out — a  villain ! "  continued  the  captain, 
slowly  and  deliberately.  My  heart  flew  up  to  my  throat,  where 
it  fluttered  as  though  it  would  have  choked  me.  There  was  an 
instant  and  dead  silence. 

"  A  villain — did  you  say,  captain  ?  and  accuse  me  of  mean- 
ness ? "  enquired  Mr  Trevor  coolly,  while  the  colour  suddenly 
faded  from  his  darkening  features ;  and,  rising  from  his  chair, 
he  stepped  forward,  and  stood  nearly  opposite  to  the  captain, 
with  his  half-emptied  glass  in  his  hand,  which,  however,  was 
not  observed  by  him  he  addressed.  "  Yes,  sir,  I  did  say  so," 
replied  the  captain  firmly — "  and  what  then  ?  " 

"  Then,  of  course,  you  will  see  the  necessity  of  apologizing  for 
it  instantly,"  rejoined  Mr  Trevor. 

"  As  I  am  not  in  the  habit,  Mr  Trevor,  of  saying  what  requires 

an  apology,  I  have  none  to  offer,"  said  Captain ,  drawing 

himself  up  in  his  chair,  and  eyeing  Mr  Trevor  with  a  steady  look 
of  haughty  composure. 

"  Then,  captain,  don't  expect  me  to  apologize  for  this!"  thun- 
dered Mr  Trevor,  at  the  same  time  hurling  his  glass,  wine,  and 


70  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHTSICIAN. 

all,  at  the  captain's  head.     Part  of  the  wine  fell  on  me,  but  the 

glass  glanced  at  the  ear  of  Captain ,  and  cut  it  slightly ; 

for  he  had  started  aside  on  seeing  Mr  Trevor's  intention.  A 
mist  seemed  to  cover  my  eyes,  as  I  saw  every  one  present  rising 
from  his  chair.  The  room  was,  of  course,  in  an  uproar.  The 
two  who  had  quarrelled  were  the  only  calm  persons  present. 
Mr  Trevor  remained  standing  on  the  same  spot  with  his  arms 

folded  on  his  breast ;  while  Captain calmly  wiped  off  the 

stains  of  wine  from  his  shirt-ruffles  and  white  waistcoat,  v/alked 

up  to  Lord ,  who  was  at  but  a  yard  or  two's  distance,  and 

enquired,  in  a  low  tone  of  voice,  "  Your  lordship  has  pistols  here, 
of  course  ?     We  had  better  settle  this  little  matter  now,  and 

here.     Captain  V ,  you  will  kindly  do  what  is  necessary  for 

me?" 

,"  My  dear  fellow,  be  calm !  This  is  really  a  very  absurd  quar- 
rel— likely  to  be  a  dreadful  business  though  !  "  replied  his  lord- 
ship, with  great  agitation. 

"  Come,  shake  hands  and  be  friends  !  Come,  don't  let  a  trum- 
pery dinner  brawl  lead  to  bloodshed — and  in  my  house,  too ! 
Make  it  up  like  men  of  sense  " 

"  That,  your  lordship  of  course  knows  as  well  as  I  do,  is 

impossible.     Will  you.  Captain  V ,  be  good  enough  to  bring 

the  pistols  ?  You  will  find  them  in  his  lordship's  shooting  gal- 
lery— we  had  better  adjourn  there,  by  the  way,  eh  ? "  enquired 
the  captain  coolly — He  had  seen  many  of  these  affairs  ! 

"  Then,  bring  them — bring  them,  by  all  means." 

"In  God's  name,  let  this  quarrel  be  settled  on  the  spot!" 
exclaimed ,  and ,  and . 

"  We  all  know  they  must  fight — that's  as  clear  as  the  sun — 

so  the  sooner  the  better!"  exclaimed  the  Honourable  Mr , 

a  hot-headed  cousin  of  Lord 's. 

"  Eternal  curses  on  the  silly  slut ! "  groaned  his  lordship ; 
"  here  will  be  bloodshed  for  her ! — My  dear  Trevor ! "  said  he,  hur- 
rying to  that  gentleman,  who,  with  seven  or  eight  people  round 
him,  was  conversing  on  the  affair  with  perfect  composure  ;  "  do, 
I  implore — I  beg — I  supplicate,  that  you  would  leave  my 
house !  Oh,  don't  let  it  be  said  I  ask  people  here  to  kill  one 
another  I     Why  may  not  this  wretched  business  be  made  up  ? — 


DUELLING. CHAPTER  VI.  71 

By ,  it  shall  be,"  said  he  vehemently ;  and,  putting  his  arm 

into  that  of  Mr  Trevor,  he  endeavoured  to  draw  him  towards  the 
sjjot  where  Captain was  standing. 

"  Your  lordship  is  very  good,  but  it's  useless,"  replied  Mr 

Trevor,  struggling  to  disengage  his  arm  from  that  of  Lord . 

"  Your  lordship  knows  the  business  must  be  settled,  and  the 

sooner  the  better.     My  friend  Sir has  undertaken  to  do 

what  is  correct  on  the  occasion.     Come,"  addressing  the  young 

baronet,  "  come  away,  and  join  Captain  V ."     All  this  was 

uttered  with  real  nonchalance !  Somebody  present  told  him  that 
the  captain  was  one  of  the  best  shots  in  England — could  hit  a 

sixpence  at  ten  yards'  distance.     "  Can  he,  by ?"  said  he 

with  a  smile,  without  evincing  the  slightest  sjinptoms  of  trepi- 
dation. "  Why,  then,  I  may  as  well  make  my  wiU,  for  I'm  as 
blind  as  a  mole  ! — Ha!  I  have  it."  He  walked  out  from  among 
those  who  were  standing  round  him,  and  strode  up  to  Captain 

,  who  was    conversing  earnestly  with  one  or  two  of  his 

brother  officers. 

"  Captain ,"  said  Mr  Trevor  sternly,  extending  his  right 

hand,  with  his  glove  half  drawn  on ;  the  captain  turned  sud- 
denly towards  him  with  a  furious  scowl — "  I  am  told  you  are  a 
dead  shot — eh?" 

"  Well,  sir,  and  what  of  that?"  enquired  the  captain  haughtily, 
and  with  some  curiosity  in  his  countenance. 

"  You  know  I  am  short-sighted — blind  as  a  beetle — and  not 

very  well  versed  in  shooting  matters" Every  one  present 

started,  and  looked  with  surprise  and  displeasure  at  the  speaker; 

and  one  muttered  in  my  ear — "  Eh  ? — d ! — Trevor  showing 

the  white  feather  ?  I  am  astonished ! " 

"  Why,  what  can  you  mean  by  all  this,  sir  ? "  enquired  the 
captain,  with  a  contemptuous  sneer. 

"  Oh !  merely  that  we  ought  not  to  fight  on  unequal  terms. 
Do  you  think,  my  good  sir,  I  will  stand  to  be  shot  at  without 
having  a  chance  of  returning  the  favour?  I  have  to  say  there- 
fore, merely,  that  since  this  quarrel  is  of  your  own  seeking — 
and  your  own  infernal  foUy  only  has  brought  it  about — I  shaU 
insist  on  our  fighting  breast  to  breast — muzzle  to  muzzle — and 
across  a  table.     Yes,"  he  continued,  elevating  his  voice  to  nearly 


72  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

a  shout,  "  we  will  go  down  to  hell  together — if  we  go  at  aU — 
that  is  some  consolation." 

"  Infamous ! " — "  Monstrous ! "  was  echoed  from  aU  present. 
They  would  not,  they  said,  hear  of  such  a  thing — they  would 
not  stand  to  see  such  butchery!  Eight  or  ten  left  the  room  ab- 
ruptly, and  did  not  return.     Captain  made  no  reply  to 

Trevor's  proposal,  but  was  conversing  anxiously  with  his  friends. 

"  Now,  sir,  who  is  the  coward  ? "  enquired  Mr  Trevor  sar- 
castically. 

"  A  few  moments  will  show,"  replied  the  captain,  stepping 
forward  with  no  sign  of  agitation  except  a  countenance  of  an 
ashy  hue ;  "  for  I  accede  to  your  terms — ruffianly — murderous  as 
they  are;  and  may  the  curse  of  a  ruined  house  overwhelm  you 

and  your  family  for  ever!"  faltered  Captain ,  who  saw,  of 

course,  that  certain  death  was  before  both. 

"  Are  the  pistols  preparing  ? "  enquired  Mr  Trevor,  without 

regarding  the  exclamation  of  Captain .     He  was  answered 

in  the  affirmative,  that  Captain  V and  Sir were  both 

absent  on  that  errand.  It  was  agreed  that  the  dreadful  aflfair 
should  take  place  in  the  shooting-gallery,  where  their  noise 
would  be  less  likely  to  alarm  the  servants.  It  is  hardly  neces- 
sary to  repeat  the  exclamations  of  "  Murder! — downright,  savage, 
deliberate  murder ! "  which  burst  from  aU  around.  Two  gentle- 
men left  abruptly,  saddled   their  horses,  and   galloped   after 

peace-officers;  while  Lord  ,  who  was  almost  distracted, 

hurried,  accompanied  by  several  gentlemen  and  myself,  to  the 
shooting-gallery,  leaving  the  captain  and  a  friend  in  the  dining- 
room,  while  Mr  Trevor,  with  another,  betook  themselves  to  the 

shrubbery  walk.     His  lordship  informed  Captain  V and 

the  baronet  of  the  dreadful  nature  of  the  combat  that  had  been 
determined  on  since  they  had  left  the  room.  They  both  threw 
down  the  pistols  they  were  in  the  act  of  loading,  and,  horror- 
struck,  swore  they  would  have  no  concern  whatever  in  such  a 
barbarous   and   bloody  transaction.     A  sudden  suggestion  of 

Lord 's,  however,  was  adopted.     They  agreed,  after  much 

hesitation  and  doubt  as  to  the  success  of  the  project,  to  charge 
the  pistols  with  powder  only,  and  put  them  intio  the  hands  of 
the  Captain  and  Mr  Trevor,  as  though  they  were  loaded  with 


DUELLING. —  CHAPTER  VI.  73 

ball.     Lord  was  sanguine  enough  to  suppose  that,  when 

they  had  both  stood  fire,  and  indisputably  proved  their  courage, 
the  affair  might  be  settled  amicably.  As  soon  as  the  necessary 
preparations  were  completed,  and  two  dreary  lights  were  placed 
in  the  shooting-gallery,  both  the  hostile  parties  were  summoned. 
As  it  was  well  known  that  I  was  preparing  for  the  medical  pro- 
fession, my  services  were  put  into  requisition  for  both. 

"  But  have  you  any  instruments  or  bandages  ?"  enquired  some 
one. 

"  It  is  of  little  consequence — we  are  not  likely  to  want  them, 
I  think,  if  our  pistols  do  their  duty,"  said  Mr  Trevor,  with  a 
smile  that  to  me  seemed  ghastly. 

But  a  servant  was  mounted  on  the  fleetest  horse  in  Lord 

's  stable,  and  despatched  for  the  surgeon,  who  resided  at 

not  more  than  half  a  mile's  distance,  with  a  note,  requesting 
him  to  come  furnished  with  the  necessary  instruments  for  a 
gunshot  wound.  As  the  principals  were  impatient,  and  the 
seconds,  as  well  as  the  others  present,  were  in  the  secret  of  the 
blank  charge  in  the  pistols,  and  anticipated  nothing  like  blood- 
shed, the  pistols  were  placed  in  the  hands  of  each  in  dead 
silence,  and  the  two  parties,  with  their  respective  friends,  retired 
to  a  little  distance  from  each  other. 

"Are  you  prepared,  Mr  Trevor?"  enquired  one  of  Captain 

's   party;   and,  being   answered  in  the  affirmative,  in   a 

moment  after,  the  two  principals,  pistol  in  hand,  approached  one 
another.  Though  I  was  almost  blinded  with  agitation,  and 
was,  in  common  with  those  around,  quaking  for  the  success  of 
our  scheme,  my  eyes  were  riveted  on  their  every  movement. 
There  was  something  fearfully  impressive  in  their  demeanour. 
Though  stepping  to  certain  death,  as  they  supposed,  there  was 
not  the  slightest  symptom  of  terror  or  agitation  visible — no 
swaggering — no  affectation  of  a  calmness  they  did  not  feel.  The 
countenance  of  each  was  deadly  pale  and  damp;  but  not  a 
muscle  trembled. 

"  Who  is  to  give  us  the  word?"  asked  the  captain  in  a  whis- 
per, which,  though  low,  was  heard  all  over  the  room ;  "  for,  in 
this  sort  of  affair,  if  one  fires  a  second  before  the  other,  he  is  a 
murderer."     At  that  moment  there  was  a  noise  heard ;  it  was 


74  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  rHTSICIAN. 

the  surgeon  who  had  arrived,  and  now  entered  breathless. 
"  Step  out,  and  give  the  word  at  once,"  said  Mr  Trevor  impa- 
tiently. Both  the  Captain  and  Mr  Trevor  returned  and  shook 
hands,  with  a  melancholy  smile,  with  their  friends,  and  then 
retook  their  places.  The  gentleman  who  was  to  give  the  signal 
then  stepped  towards  them,  and,  closing  his  eyes  with  his  hands, 
said,  in  a  tremulous  tone,  "  Raise  your  pistols ! " — the  muzzles 
were  instantly  touching  one  another's  breasts — "  and  when  I 
have  counted  three,  fire.  One — two — three  !  " — They  fired — 
both  recoiled  with  the  shock  several  paces,  and  their  friends 
rushed  forward. 

"  Why,  what  is  the  meaning  of  this  ! "  exclaimed  both  in  a 
breath.     "  Who  has  dared  to  mock  us  in  this  way  ?    There  were 

no  balls  in  the  pistols!"  exclaimed  Trevor  fiercely.     Lord 

and  the  seconds  explained  the  well  meant  artifice,  and  received 
an  indignant  curse  for  their  pains.  It  was  in  vain  we  all  im- 
plored them  to  be  reconciled,  as  each  had  done  amply  sufficient 
to  vindicate  his  honour.  Trevor  almost  gnashed  his  teeth  with 
fury.    There  was  something  fiendish,  I  thought,  in  the  expression 

of  his  countenance.     "  It  is  easilj'  remedied,"  said  Captain , 

as  his  eye  caught  several  small  swords  hanging  up.  He  took 
down  two,  measured  them,  and  proifered  one  to  his  antagonist, 
who  clutched  it  eagerly. — "  There  can  be  no  deception  here, 
however,"  he  gasped  ;  "  and  now" — each  put  himself  into  posture 
— "  stand  off  there ! " 

We  fell  back,  horror-struck  at  the  relentless  and  revengeful 
spirit  with  which  they  seemed  animated.  I  do  not  know  which  was 
the  better  swordsman  ;  I  recollect  only  seeing  a  rapid  glancing 
of  their  weapons  flashing  about  like  sparks  of  fire,  and  a  hurrying 
about  in  all  directions,  which  lasted  for  several  moments,  when 
one  of  them  fell.  It  was  the  Captain ;  for  the  strong  and  skil- 
ful arm  of  Mr  Trevor  had  thrust  his  sword  nearly  up  to  the 
hilt  in  the  side  of  his  antagonist.  His  very  heart  was  cloven! 
The  unfortunate  young  man  fell  without  uttering  a  groan — his 
sword  dropped  from  his  grasp — he  pressed  his  right  hand  to  his 
heart,  and,  with  a  quivering  motion  of  the  lips,  as  though  strug- 
gling to  speak,  expired !  "  O,  my  great  God ! "  exclaimed  Trevor, 
in  a  broken  and  hollow  tone,  with  a  face  so  blanched  and  horror- 


INTRIGUING  AND  MADNESS. CHAPTER  VI.  75 

stricken,  that  it  froze  my  very  blood  to  look  upon,  "  what  have  I 
done  ?    Can  all  this  he  keal  ! "    He  continued  on  his  knees  by 
the  side  of  his  fallen  antagonist,  with  his  hands  clasped  convul- 
siveljr,  and  his  eyes  glaring  upwards,  for  several  moments. 
*  *  *  * 

A  haze  of  horror  is  spread  over  that  black  transaction ;  and  if 
it  is  dissipated  for  an  instant,  when  my  mind's  eye  suddenly  looks 
back  through  the  vista  of  years,  the  scene  seems  only  the  gloomy 
representation  or  picture  of  some  occurrence  which  I  cannot  per- 
suade myself  that  I  actually  witnessed.  .  To  this  hour,  when  I 
advert  to  it,  I  am  not  free  from  fits  of  incredulousness.  The 
affair  created  a  great  ferment  at  the  time.  The  unhappy  sur- 
vivor (who,  in  this  narrative,  has  passed  under  the  name  of 
Trevor)  instantly  left  England,  and  died,  about  five  years  after- 
wards, in  the  south  of  France,  in  truth  broken-hearted. — In  a 
word,  since  that  day  I  have  never  seen  men  entering  into  dis- 
cussion, when  warmed  with  wine,  and  approaching,  never  so 
slowly,  towards  the  confines  of  personality,  without  reverting, 
with  a  shudder,  to  the  trifling— the  utterly  insignificant — cir- 
cumstances, which  wine  and  the  hot  passions  of  youth  kindled 

into  the  fatal  brawl  which  cost  poor  Captain his  life,  and 

drove  Mr abroad,  to  die  a  broken-hearted  exile ! 


CHAPTER  VII. 


INTEIOriSa   AND   MADNESS. 


Note  to  the  Editor  of  Blackwood.* — Sir  Christopher, — 
A  letter,  under  the  title  of  "  JDlacliwood'' s  Magazine  v.  the  Secreti 
of  the  Medical  Profession,"  appeared  in  the  Lancet  of  the  28th 
August  last — "  the  most  influential  and  popular  organ,"  it  says, 
"  the  profession  possesses" —  a  paragraph  from  which  I  beg  to 
extract,  and  call  the  attention  of  your  numerous  readers  to  it. 

*  As  considerable  currency  has  been  given  to  tlie  objections  which  called 
forth  this  answer,  I  have  retained  it  as  a  sort  of  standing  defence. 


76  DIART  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

I  do  this  in  justice  to  myself;  because,  in  the  event  of  my  name, 
insignificant  perhaps  as  it  is,  happening  to  be  disclosed,  the  said 
letter  is  calculated  to  work  me  much  prejudice  with  my  profes- 
sional brethren,  and  also  with  the  public  in  general ;  for  I  need 
not  tell  you.  Sir  Christopher,  of  the  extensive  and  miscellaneous 
circulation  of  the  publication  alluded  to.  After  some  compli- 
mentary remarks,  the  writer  proceeds  : — 

"  But  I  enter  my  protest,  as  a  physician  in  some  little  prac- 
tice, against  the  custom  of  disclosing  to  the  public  the  sacred 
secrets  which  are  communicated  to  us  in  perfect  confidence  hy  our 
patients,  and  ought  to  he  preserved  inviolable.  The  Editor  of 
Blackwood  happily  enough  says,  '  what  periodica]  has  sunk  a 
shaft  into  this  rich  mine  of  incident  and  sentiment  ? '  True ;  the 
reason  has  been,  and  is  yet,  I  hope,  to  be  found  in  the  honour  of 
our  profession,  and  the  determination  of  its  members  to  merit 
the  confidence  of  their  patients,  by  continuing,  in  the  language 
of  Junius,  '  the  sole  depositary  of  their  secrets,  which  shall 
perish  with  them.'  If  the  writer  of  the  papers  in  question,  or 
the  Editor  of  Blackwood,  should  see  this  letter,  they  are  implored 
to  consider  its  purport ;  and  thus  prevent  the  public  from  view- 
ing their  medical  attendants  with  distrust,  and  withholding  those 
confidential  disclosures  which  are  essential  to  the  due  perform- 
ance of  our  professional  duties.  The  very  persons  who  would 
read  such  a  series  of  articles  as  the  '  Passages  from  the  Diary  of 
a  Late  Physician'  promise  to  be,  with  intense  interest,  would  b<» 
the  first  to  act  on  the  principle  I  have  mentioned." 

If  I  were  not  credibly  assured.  Sir  Christopher,  that  this  letter 
is  the  production  of  a  distinguished  member  of  the  profession,  I 
should  have  felt  inclined  to  compress  my  commentary  on  it  into 
one  emphatic  little  word — humbug  !  As  it  is,  however,  I  beg  to 
ask  the  writer,  who  is  so  ready  at  starting  the  grave  charge  of  a 
breach  of  professional  confidence,  what  I  do  more,  in  pubhshing 
in  your  Magazine  these  papers  of  my  late  friend,  with  the  most 
scrupulous  concealment  of  every  thing  which  could  possibly  lead 
to  undue  disclosures,  than  is  constantly  done  in  the  pages  of  the 
Lancet  itself,  as  weU  as  all  the  other  professional  journals,  text- 
books, and  treatises,  which  almost  invariably  append  real  irdtiali 


ISTKIGUING  AND  MADNESS. CHAPTER  VII.  77 

— (I  appeal  to  every  medical  man  whether  such  is  not  the  fact) — ■ 
and  other  indicia,  to  the  most  painful,  and,  in  many  instances, 
revolting  and  offensive  details  ?  It  may  possibly  be  answered — 
as  it  really  has  been — that,  in  the  latter  case,  the  narratives  meet 
only  professional  eyes.  What !  in  the  Lancet  ?  in  the  Medical 
Gazette  ?  in  Dr  Recce's  Journal?  Are  these  works  to  be  found 
in  the  hands  of  professional  men  only  ? — I  have  but  one  other 
observation  to  make.  Would  the  delicacy  of  patients  be  less 
shocked  at  finding  the  peculiar  features  of  their  physical  maladies 
— a  subject  on  which  their  feelings  are  morbidly  irritable — 
exposed  to  every  member,  high  and  low,  young  and  old,  of  our 
extensive  profession — the  theme  of  lectures — the  subject  of  con- 
stant allusion  and  comment,  from  beneath  the  thin  veil  of  "  Mrs 

J M 1,"  &c. ;   is  this,  I  say,  less  likely  to  hurt  their 

feelings,  than  seeing  (as  is  improbable  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten 
of  those  who  read  these  Passages)  the  morale,  the  sentiment  of 
their  case  extracted,  dressed  in  the  shape  of  simple  narrative, 
and  challenging  the  sympathy  and  admiration  of  the  public  ? 
Take,  as  an  instance,  the  first  narrative,  entitled  "  Cancer," 

which  appeared  in  your  last  Magazine.     Could  Mrs  St , 

were  she  living,  be  pained  at  reading  it — or  any  surviving  friend 
or  relative,  for  her  ?  And  if  any  subsequent  sketch  should  dis- 
close matter  of  reprobation,  in  the  shape  of  weak,  criminal,  or 
infamous  conduct,  surely  the  exposure  is  merited ;  such  subjects 
should  suiFer  in  silence,  and  none  wiU  be  the  wiser  for  it.  I 
conceive,  that  several  scenes  of  this  character,  which  I  have 
trembled  and  blushed  over  in  my  late  friend's  journal,  are  pro- 
perly dealt  with,  if  made  public  property — a  source  of  instruction 
and  warning  to  all.  In  a  word,  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  the 
writer  of  the  letter  in  question  has  wasted  much  fervent  zeal  to 
little  purpose,  and  conjured  up  a  ghost  for  the  mere  purpose  of 
exorcism.  This  I  have  done  for  him ;  and  I  hope  his  fears  will 
henceforth  abate. 

A  moment  farther,  good  Sir  Christopher.  As  to  one  or  two 
individuals  who  have  been  singled  out  by  the  various  knowing 
papers  of  the  day,  as  the  writer  or  subject  of  these  chapters,  you 
and  I  know  well  that  the  proper  party  has  never  yet  been 
glanced  at,  nor  is  likely  to  be ;  and  for  the  future,  no  notice 


78  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

whatever  will  be  taken  of  their  curious  speculations. — Believe 
me  ever,  reverend  Sir  Christopher,  &c. 

LoMDOM,  September  9,  1830. 


When  I  have  seen  a  beautiful  and  popular  actress,  I  have 
often  thought,  how  many  young  playgoers  these  women  must 
intoxicate — how  many  even  sensible,  and  otherwise  sober  heads, 
they  must  turn  upside  down !  Some  years  ago,  a  case  came 
under  my  care,  which  showed  fully  the  justness  of  this  reflection ; 
and  I  now  relatg  it,  as  I  consider  it  pregnant  both  with  interest 
and  instruction.  It  will  show  how  the  energies  of  even  a  power- 
ful and  well-informed  mind  may  be  prostrated  by  the  indulgence 
of  unbridled  passions. 

Late  one  evening  in  November,  I  was  summoned  in  haste  to 
visit  a  gentlenian  who  was  staying  at  one  of  the  hotels  in  Covent 
Garden,  and  informed  in  a  note  that  he  had  manifested  symp- 
toms of  insanity.     As  there  is  no  time  to  be  lost  in  such  cases,  I 

hurried  to  the Hotel,  which  I  reached  about  nine  o'clock. 

The  proprietor  gave  me  some  preliminary  information  about  the 
patient  to  whom  I  was  summoned,  which,  with  what  I  subse- 
quently gleaned  from  the  party  himself  and  other  quarters,  I  shall 
present  connectedly  to  the  reader,  before  introducing  him  to  the 
sick  man's  chamber. 

Mr  Warningham — for  that  name  may  serve  to  indicate  him 
through  this  narrative — was  a  young  man  of  considerable  fortune, 

some  family,  and  a  member  of College,  Cambridge.    His 

person  and  manners  were  gentlemanly :  and  his  countenance, 
without  possessingany  claims  to  the  character  of  handsome,  faith- 
fully indicated  a  powerful  and  cultivated  mind  He  had  mingled 
largely  in  college  gayeties  and  dissipations,  but  knew  little 
or  nothing  of  what  is  called  "  town  life  ;"  which  may,  in  a  great 
measure,  account  for  much  of  the  simplicity  and  extravagance  of 
the  conduct  I  am  about  to  relate.  Having,  from  his  youth  up- 
wards, been  accustomed  to  the  instant  gratification  of  almost  every 
wish  he  could  form,  the  slightest  obstacle  in  his  way  was  sufficient 
to  irritate  him  almost  to  frenzy.     His  temperament  was  very 


INTEIGTJING  AN^D  MABNESS. CHAPTER  VII.  79 

ardent — his  imagination  lively  and  active.  In  short,  he  passed 
every  where  for  what  he  really  was — a  very  clever  man — exten- 
sively read  in  elegant  literature,  and  particularly  intimate  with 
the  dramatic  writers.  About  a  fortnight  before  the  day  on  which 
I  was  summoned  to  him,  he  had  come  up  from  College  to  visit  a 
young  lady  whom  he  was  addressing ;  but  finding  her  unex- 
pectedly gone  to  Paris,  he  resolved  to  continue  in  London  the 
whole  time  he  had  proposed  to  himself,  and  enjoy  all  the  amuse- 
ments about  town,  particularly  the  theatres.  The  evening  of  the 
day  on  which  he  arrived  at  the  • — - — ■  Hotel,  beheld  hirri  at 
Drury  Lane  witnessing  a  new,  and,  as  the  event  proved,  a  very 

popular  tragedy      In  the  afterpiece.  Miss was  a  prominent 

performer;  and  her  beauty  of  person — her  "  maddening  eyes,"  as 
Mr  Warningham  often  called  them — added  to  her  fascinating 
naivete  of  manner,  and  the  interesting  character  she  sustained 
that  evening — at  once  laid  prostrate  poor  Mr  Warningham 
among  the  throng  of  worshippers  at  the  feet  of  this  "  Diana  of 
the  Ephesians." 

As  he  found  she  played  again  the  next  evening,  he  took  care 
to  engage  the  stage-box;  and  fanciedhe  had  succeeded  in  attract- 
ing her  attention.  He  thought  her  lustrous  eyes  fell  on  him 
several  times  during  the  evening,  and  that  they  were  instantly 
withdrawn,  with  an  air  of  conscious  confusion  and  embarrass- 
ment, from  the  intense  and  passionate  gaze  which  they  encoun- 
tered. This  was  sufficient  to  fire  the  train  of  Mr  Wamingham's 
susceptible  feelings  ;  and  his  whole  heart  was  in  a  blaze  instantly. 

Miss  sang  that  evening  one  of  her  favourite  songs — an 

exquisitely  pensive  and  beautiful  air;  and  Mr  Warningham, 
almost  frantic  with  excitement,  applauded  with  such  obstrepe- 
rous vehemence,  and  continued  shouting  '■'■  encore — encore  " — so 
long  after  the  general  calls  of  the  house  had  ceased,  as  to  attract 

all  eyes  for  an  instant  to  his  box.     Miss  could  not,  of 

course,  fail  to  observe  his  conduct ;  and  presently  herself  looked 
up  with  what  he  considered  a  gratified  air.  Quivering  with 
excitement  and  nervous  irritability,  Mr  Warningham  could 
scarcely  sit  out  the  rest  of  the  piece ;  and  the  moment  the  cur- 
tain fell,  he  hurried  round  to  the  stage-door,  determined  to  wait 
and  see  her  leave,  for  the  purpose,  if  possible,  of  speaking  to  her. 


80  DiASi  or  A  LATE  ruvsiciAN. 

He  presently  saw  her  approach  the  door,  closely  muffled,  veiled, 
and  bonneted,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  a  man  of  military  appear- 
ance, who  handed  her  into  a  very  ga}'  chariot.     He  perceived  at 

once  that  it  was  the  well-known  Captain  ■ •.     Will  it  be 

believed  that  this  enthusiastic  young  man  actually  jumped  up 
behind  the  carriage  which  contained  the  object  of  his  idolatrous 
homage,  and  did  not  alight  till  it  drew  up  opposite  a  large  house 
in  the  western  suburbs ;  and  that  this  absurd  feat,  moreover,  was 
performed  amid  an  incessant  shower  of  small  searching  rain  ? 
He  was  informed  by  the  footman,  whom  he  had  bribed  with 

five  shillings,  that  Miss 's  own  house  was  in  another  part 

of  the  town,  and  that  her  stay  at  Captain 's  was  only  for  a 

day  or  two.  He  returned  to  his  hotel  in  a  state  of  tumultuous 
excitement,  which  can  be  better  conceived  than  described.  As 
may  be  supposed,  he  slept  little  that  night;  and  the  first  thing 
he  did  in  the  morning  was  to  dispatch  his  groom,  with  orders  to 
establish  himself  in  some  public-house  which  could  command  a 

view  of  Miss 's  residence,  and  return  to  Covent  Garden  as 

soon  as  he  had  seen  her  or  her  maid  enter.  It  was  not  till  seven 
o'clock  that  he  brought  word  to  his  master  that  no  one  had  en- 
tered but  Miss 's  maid.     The  papers  informed  him  that 

Miss played  again  that  evening;  and  though  he  could  not 

but  be  aware  of  the  sort  of  intimacy  which  subsisted  between 
Miss  and  the  Captain,  his  enthusiastic  passion  only  in- 
creased with  increasing  obstacles.  Though  seriously  unwell 
with  a  determination  of  blood  to  the  head,  induced  by  the  per- 
petual excitement  of  his  feelings,  and  a  severe  cold  caught 
through  exposure  to  the  rain  on  the  preceding  evening — he  was 
dressing  for  the  play,  when,  to  his  infinite  mortification,  his 
friendly  medical  attendant  happening  to  step  in,  positively  for- 
bade his  leaving  the  room,  and  consigned  him  to  bed  and  physic, 
instead  of  the  maddening  scenes  of  the  theatre.  The  next 
morning  he  felt  relieved  from  the  more  urgent  symptoms  ;  and 
his  servant  having  brought  him  word  that  he  had  at  last  watched 

Miss enter  her  house,  unaccompanied,  except  by  her  maid, 

Mr  Warningham  dispatched  him  with  a  copy  of  passionate 
verses,  enclosed  in  a  blank  envelope.  He  trusted  that  some 
adroit  allusions  in  them  might  possibly  give  her  a  clew  to  the 


INTRIGUING  AND  MADNESS. CHAPIEK  VH.  81 

discovery  of  the  writer — especially  if  he  could  contrive  to  be 
seen  by  her  that  evening  in  the  same  box  he  had  occupied  for- 
merly; for  to  the  play  he  was  resolved  to  go,  in  defiance  of  the 
threats  of  his  medical  attendant.  To  his  vexation,  he  found  the 
box  in  question  pre-engaged  for  a  family  party;  and — will  it  be 
credited — he  actually  entertained  the  idea  of  discovering  who 
they  were,  for  the  purpose  of  prevailing  on  them  to  vacate  in 
his  favour !  Finding  that,  however,  of  course,  out  of  the  ques- 
tion, he  was  compelled  to  content  himself  with  the  correspond- 
ing box  opposite,  where  he  was  duly  ensconced  the  moment  the 
doors  were  opened. 

Miss appeared  that  evening  in  only  one  piece,  but,  in 

the  course  of  it,  she  had  to  sing  some  of  her  most  admired  songs. 
The  character  she  played,  also,  was  a  favourite  both  with  her- 
self and  the  public.  Her  dress  was  exquisitely  tasteful  and 
picturesque,  and  calculated  to  set  off  her  figure  to  the  utmost 
advantage.  When,  at  a  particular  crisis  of  the  play,  Mr  War- 
ningham,  by  the  softened  lustre  of  the  lowered  foot-lights, 

beheld  Miss emerging  from  a  romantic  glen,  with  a  cloak 

thrown  over  her  shoulders,  her  head  covered  with  a  velvet  cap, 
over  which  drooped,  in  snowy  pendency,  an  ostrich  feather, 
while  her  hair  strayed  from  beneath  the  cincture  of  her  cap  in 
loose  negligent  curls,  down  her  face  and  beautiful  cheeks ;  when 
he  saw  the  timid  and  alarmed  air  which  her  part  required  her 
to  assume,  and  the  sweot  and  sad  expression  of  her  eyes,  while 
she  stole  about,  as  if  avoiding  a  pursuer;  when  at  length,  as  the 
raised  foot-lights  were  restored  to  their  former  glare,  she  let 
fall  the  cloak  which  had  enveloped  her,  and,  like  a  metamorphosed 
chrysalis,  burst  in  beauty  on  the  applauding  house,  habited  in 
a  costume  which,  without  being  positively  indelicate,  was  cal- 
culated to  excite  the  most  voluptuous  thoughts;  when,  I  say, 
poor  Mr  Warningham  saw  all  this,  he  was  almost  overpowered, 
and  leaning  back  in  his  box  breathless  with  agitation. 

A  little  before  Miss quitted  the  stage  for  the  last  time 

that  evening,  the  order  of  the  play  required  that  she  should 
stand  for  some  minutes  on  that  part  of  the  stage  next  to  Mr 
Warningham's  box.  While  she  was  standing  in  a  pensive  atti- 
tude, with  her  face  turned  full  towards  Mr  Warningham,  he 
1  r 


82  DIARY  or  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

whispered,  in   a  quivering  and   under  tone,  "  Oh,  beautiful, 

beautiful  creature !  "  Miss heard  him,  looked  at  him  with 

a  little  surprise;  her  features  relaxed  into  a  smile,  and,  with  a 
gentle  shake  of  the  head,  as  if  hinting  that  he  should  not 
endeavour  to  distract  her  attention,  she  moved  away  to  pro- 
ceed with  her  part.  Mr  Warningham  trembled  violently;  he 
fancied  she  encouraged  his  attentions,  and — Heaven  knows 
how — ^had  recognised  in  him  the  writer  of  the  verses  she  had 
received.  When  the  play  was  over,  he  hurried,  as  on  a  former 
occasion,  to  the  stage-door,  where  he  mingled  with  the  inquisi- 
tive little  throng  usually  to  be  found  there,  and  waited  till  she 
made  her  appearance,  enveloped,  as  before,  in  a  large  shawl,  but 
followed  only  by  a  maid-servant,  carrying  a  bandbox.  They 
stepped  into  a  hackney-coach,  and,  though  Mr  Warningham 
had  gone  there  for  the  express  purpose  of  speaking  to  her,  his 
knees  knocked  together,  and  he  felt  so  sick  with  agitation,  that 
he  did  not  even  attempt  to  hand  her  into  the  coach.  He  jumped 
into  the  one  which  drew  up  next,  and  ordered  the  coachman  to 
foUow  the  preceding  one  wherever  it  went.  When  it  approached 
the  street  where  he  knew  she  resided,  he  ordered  it  to  stop,  got 
out,  and  hurried  on  foot  towards  the  house,  which  he  reached 
just  as  she  was  alighting  He  offered  her  his  arm.  She  looked 
at  him  with  astonishment,  and  something  like  apprehension. 
At  length,  she  appeared  to  recognise  in  him  the  person  who  had 
attracted  her  attention  by  whispering  when  at  the  theatre,  and 
seemed,  he  thought,  a  little  discomposed.  She  declined  his 
proffered  assistance — said  her  maid  was  with  her — and  was 
going  to  knock  at  the  door,  when  Mr  Warningham  stammered 
faintly,  "  Dear  madam,  do  allow  me  the  honour  of  calling  in  the 
morning,  and  enquiring  how  you  are,  after  the  great  exertions 
at  the  theatre  this  evening ! "  She  replied  in  a  cold  and  dis- 
couraging manner :  could  not  conceive  to  what  she  was  indebted 
for  the  honour  of  his  particular  attentions,  and  interest  in  her 
welfare,  so  suddenly  felt  by  an  utter  stranger — unusual — singular 
— improper — unpleasant,  &c.  She  said,  that,  as  for  his  calling 
in  the  morning,  if  he  felt  so  inclined,  she,  of  course,  could  not 
prevent  him ;  but  if  he  expected  to  see  her  when  he  called, 
he  would  find  himself  "perfectly  mistaken."     The  door  that 


INTRIGUING  AND  MADNESS. CHAPTER  VH.  83 

moment  was  opened,  and  closed  upon  her,  as  she  made  him  a  cold 
bow,  leaving  Mr  Warningham,  what  with  chagrin  and  excessive 
passion  for  her,  almost  distracted.  He  seriously  assured  me, 
that  he  walked  to  and  fro  before  her  door  till  nearly  six  o'clock 
in  the  morning;  that  he  repeatedly  ascended  the  steps,  and 
endeavoured,  as  nearly  as  he  could  recollect,  to  stand  on  the 
very  spot  she  had  occupied  while  speaking  to  him,  and  would 
remain  gazing  at  what  he  fancied  was  the  window  of  her  bed- 
room, for  ten  minutes  together;  and  all  this  extravagance,  to 
boot,  was  perpetrated  amidst  an  incessant  fall  of  snow,  and  at  a 
time — Heaven  save  the  mark  ! — when  he  was  an  accepted  suitor 
of  Miss  - — — ,  the  young  lady  whom  he  had  come  to  town  for 
the  express  purpose  of  marrying.  I  several  times  asked  him 
how  it  was  that  he  could  bring  himself  to  consider  such  conduct 
consistent  with  honour  or  delicacy,  or  feel  a  spark  of  real  attach- 
ment for  the  lady  to  whom  he  was  engaged,  if  it  were  not 
sufficient  to  steel  his  heart  and  close  his  eyes  against  the  charms 
of  any  other  woman  in  the  world  ?  His  only  reply  was,  that  he 
"really  could  not  help  it" — he  felt  "rather  the  patient  than 

agent."   Miss took  his  heart,  he  said,  by  storm,  and  forcibly 

ejected,  for  a  while,  his  love  for  any  other  woman  breathing ! 

To  return,  however :  About  half-past  six,  he  jumped  into  a 
hackney  coach  which  happened  to  be  passing  through  the  street, 
drove  home  to  the  hotel  in  Covent  Garden,  and  threw  himself 
on  the  bed,  in  a  state  of  utter  exhaustion,  both  of  mind  and  body. 
He  slept  on  heavily  till  twelve  o'clock  at  noon,  when  he  awoke 
seriously  indisposed.     For  the  first  few  moments,  he  could  not 

dispossess  himself  of  the  idea  that  Bliss was  standing  by 

his  bedside,  in  the  dress  she  wore  the  preceding  evening,  and 
smiled  encouragingly  on  him.  So  strong  was  the  delusion,  that 
he  actually  addressed  several  sentences  to  her!  About  three 
o'clock,  he  drove  out,  and  called  on  one  of  his  gay  friends,  who 
was  perfectly  aufait  at  matters  of  this  sort,  and  resolved  to  make 
him  his  confidant  in  the  affair.  Under  the  advice  of  this  Mentor 
Mr  Warningham  purchased  a  very  beautiful  emerald  ring,  which 

he  sent  off  instantly  to  Miss  ,  with  a  polite  note,  sajdng 

it  was  some  slight  acknowledgment  of  the  delight  with  which  he 
witnessed  her  exquisite  acting,  &c.  &c.  &c.     This,  his  friend 


84  DIAEY   OF  A  LATE  niYSICIAN. 

assured  him,  must  call  forth  an  answer  of  some  sort  or  other, 
which  would  lead  to  another — and  another — and  another — and 
so  on.  He  was  right.  A  twopenny  post  letter  was  put  into  Mr 
Warningham's  hands  the  next  morning  before  he  rose,  which 

was  from  Miss ,  elegantly  written,  and  thanked  him  for  the 

"  tasteful  present"  he  had  sent  her,  which  she  should,  with  great 
pleasure,  take  an  early  opportunity  of  gratifying  him  by  wearing 
in  public. 

There  never  yet  lived  an  actress,  I  verily  believe,  who  had 
fortitude  enough  to  refuse  a  present  of  jewellery! 

What  was  to  be  done  next,  he  did  not  exactly  know ;  but  hav- 
ing succeeded  at  last  in  opening  an  avenue  of  communication  with 
her,  and  induced  her  so  easily  to  lie  under  an  obligation  to  him, 
he  felt  convinced  that  his  way  was  now  clear.  He  determined, 
therefore,  to  call  and  see  her  that  very  afternoon ;  but  his  medi- 
cal friend,  seeing  the  state  of  feverish  excitement  in  which  he 
continued,  absolutely  interdicted  him  from  leaving  the  house. 
The  next  day  he  felt  considerably  better,  but  was  not  allowed  to 
leave  the  house.     He  could,  therefore,  find  no  other  means  of 

consoling  himself  than  writing  a  note  to  Miss  ,  saying  he 

had  ''  something  important "  to  communicate  to  her,  and  begging 
to  know  when  she  would  permit  him  to  wait  upon  her  for  that 
purpose.  What  does  the  reader  imagine  this  pretext  of  "  some- 
thing important"  was?  To  ask  her  to  sit  for  her  portrait  to  it 
young  artist !  His  stratagem  succeeded ;  for  he  received  in  the 
course  of  the  next  day,  a  polite  invitation  to  breakfast  with  Miss 

on  the  next  Sunday  morning ;  with  a  hint  that  he  might 

expect  no  other  company,  and  that  Miss was  "  curious"  to 

know  what  his  particular  business  with  her  was.  Poor  Mr 
Warningham !  How  was  he  to  exist  in  the  interval  between 
this  day  and  Sunday  ?     He  would  fain  have  annihilated  it. 

Sunday  morning  at  last  arrived ;  and  about  nine  o'clock  he 
sallied  from  his  hotel,  the  first  time  he  had  left  it  for  several 
days,  and  drove  to  the  house.  With  a  fluttering  heart  he 
knocked  at  the  door,  and  a  maid-servant  ushered  him  into  an 
elegant  apartment,  in  which  breakfast  was  laid.  An  elderly 
lady,  some  female  relative  of  the  actress,  was  reading  a  news- 
paper at  the  breakfast  table ;  and  Miss herself  was  seated 


I.NTKIGUING  AND  MADNESS. CHAPTER  VII.  85 

at  the  piano,  practising  one  of  those  exquisite  songs  which  had 
been  listened  to  with  breathless  rapture  by  thousands.  She  wore 
an  elegant  morning  dress;  and  though  her  infatuated  visiter  had 
come  prepared  to  see  her  at  a  great  disadvantage,  divested  of  the 
dazzling  complexion  she  exhibited  on  the  stage,  her  pale  and 
somewhat  sallow  features,  which  wore  a  pensive  and  fatigued 
expression,  served  to  rivet  the  chains  of  his  admiration  still 
stronger  with  the  feelings  of  sympathy.  Her  beautiful  eyes 
beamed  on  him  with  sweetness  and  affability ;  and  there  was  an 
ease,  a  gentleness  in  her  manners,  and  a  soft  animating  tone  in 
her  voice,  which  filled  Mr  Warningham  with  emotions  of  inde- 
scribable tenderness.  A  few  moments  beheld  them  seated  at  the 
breakfast  table;  and  when  Mr  Warningham  gazed  at  his  fair 
hostess,  and  reflected  on  his  envied  contiguity  to  one  whose 
beauty  and  talents  were  the  theme  of  universal  admiration — 
listened  to  her  lively  and  varied  conversation,  and  perceived  a 
faint  crimson  steal  for  an  instant  over  her  countenance,  when  he 
reminded  her  of  his  exclamation  at  the  theatre — he  felt  a  swell- 
ing excitement,  which  would  barely  suffer  him  to  preserve  an 
exterior  calmness  of  demeanour.  He  felt,  as  he  expressed  it — 
(for  he  has  often  recounted  these  scenes  to  me) — that  she  was 
maddening  him  !  Of  course,  he  exerted  himself  in  conversation 
to  the  utmost ;  and  his  observations  on  almost  every  topic  of 
polite  literature  were  met  with  equal  spirit  and  sprightliness  by 

Miss  .      He  found  her  fully  capable  of  appreciating  the 

noblest  passages  from  Shakspeare  and  some  of  the  older  Eng- 
lish dramatists,  and  that  was  sufficient  to  lay  enthusiastic  Mr 
Warningham  at  the  feet  of  any  woman.     He  was  reciting  a 

passionate  passage  from  Romeo  and  Juliet,  to  which  Miss 

was  listening  with  an  apparent  air  of  kindling  enthusiasm,  when 
a  phaeton  dashed  up  to  the  door,  and  an  impetuous  thundering 
of  the  knocker  announced  the  arrival  of  some  aristocratical 
visiter.  The  elderly  lady  who  was  sitting  with  them,  started, 
coloured,  and  exclaimed — "  Good  God  !  will  you  receive  the  man 
this  morning?" 

"  O,  it's  only  Lord !"  exclaimed  Miss with  an  air 

of  indifference,  after  having  examined  the  equipage  through  the 
window-blinds,  "and  I  won't  see  the  man — that's  flat.     He 


86  BIARY  OF  A  LATE  THYSICIAN. 

pesters  me  to  death,"  she  continued,  turning  to  Mr  Warning- 
ham,  with  a  pretty  peevish  air.  It  had  its  effect  on  him.  What 
an  enviable  fellow  I  am,  to  be  received  when  Lords  ar«  refused ! 
thought  Mr  Warninghara. 

"  Not  at  home !  "  drawled  Miss coldly,  as  the  servant 

brought  in  Lord 's  card.     "  You  know  one  can't  see  every 

body,  Mr  Warningham,"  she  said  with  a  smile.  "  Oh,  Mr 
W^arningham ! — lud,  lud ! — don't  go  to  the  window  till  the  man's 
gone ! "  she  exclaimed ;  and  her  small  white  hand,  with  his 
emerald  ring  glistening  on  her  second  finger,  was  hurriedly  laid 
on  his  shoulder,  to  prevent  his  going  to  the  window.  Mr  War- 
ningham declared  to  me,  he  could  that  moment  have  settled  his 
whole  fortune  on  her ! 

After  the  breakfast  things  were  removed,  she  sat  down,  at  his 
request,  to  the  piano — a  very  magnificent  present  from  the  Duke 

of ,  Mrs assured  him — and  sang  and  played  whatever 

he  asked.  She  played  a  certain  well-known  arch  air,  with  the 
most  betwitching  simplicity.  Mr  W^arningham  could  only  look 
his  feelings.  As  she  concluded  it,  and  was  dashing  off  the  sym- 
phony in  a  careless  but  rapid  and  brilliant  style,  Mrs ,  the 

lady  once  or  twice  before  mentioned,  left  the  room;  and  Mr 
W^arningham,  scarce  knowing  what  he  did,  suddenly  sank  on 

one  knee,  from  the  chair  on  which  he  was  sitting  by  Miss , 

grasped  her  hand,  and  uttered  some  exclamation  of  passionate 

fondness.     Miss turned  to  him  a  moment,  with  a  surprised 

air,  her  large,  liquid,  blue  eyes  almost  entirely  hid  beneath  her 
half-closed  lids,  her  features  relaxed  into  a  coquettish  smile,  she 
disengaged  her  hand,  and  went  on  playing  and  singing — 

"  He  sighs — '  Beauty .'  I  adore  thee, 
See  me  fainting  thus  hefore  thee ; ' 
But  I  say — 
Tal,  lal,  lal,  la  I  Fal,  lal,  lal,  la ! 
Fal,  lal,"  &c. 

"Fascinating,  angelic  woman! — glorious  creature  of  intellect 
and  beauty,  I  cannot  live  but  in  your  presence!"  gasped  Mr 
Warningham. 

"O  Lord!  what  an  actor  you  would  have  made,  Mr  War- 
ningham— indeed  you  would !    Only  think  how  it  would  sound 


INTRIGUING  AND  MADNESS. CHAPTER  Til.  87 

— ''Romeo,   Mr  Warninghaml' — Lud,   lud! — the  man  would 

almost  persuade  me  that  he  was  in  earnest ! "  replied  Miss 

with  the  most  enchanting  air,  and  ceased  playing.  Mr  War- 
ningham  continued  addressing  her  in  the  most  extravagant 
manner;  indeed,  he  afterwards  told  me,  he  felt  "as  though  his 
wits  were  slipping  from  him  every  instant." 

"Why  don't  you  go  on  the  stage,  Mr  Warningham?"  en- 
quired Miss ,  with  a  more  earnest  and  serious  air  than  she 

had  hitherto  manifested,  and  gazing  at  him  with  an  eye  which 
expressed  real  admiration — for  she  was  touched  by  the  winning, 
persuasive,  and  passionate  eloquence  with  which  Mr  Warning- 
ham  expressed  himself.  She  had  hardly  uttered  the  words, 
when  a  loud  and  long  knock  was  heard  at  the  street  door.    Miss 

suddenly  started  from  the  piano,  turned  pale,  and  exclaimed, 

in  a  hurried  and  agitated  tone — "  Lord,  lord,  what's  to  be  done? 

— Captain ! — what  ever  can  have  brought  him  up  to  town 

■ — oh !  my ." 

"Good  God;  madam,  what  can  possibly  alarm  you  in  this 
manner?  "  exclaimed  Mr  Warningham  with  a  surprised  air. 

"  Wliat  on  earth  can  there  be  in  this  Captain  to  startle 

you  in  this  manner?  What  can  the  man  want  here,  if  his  pre- 
sence is  disagreeable  to  you?  Pray,  madam,  give  him  the  same 
answer  you  gave  Lord !  " 

"  O,  Mr  Warn — dear,  dear!  the  door  is  opened — what  iviU 

become  of  me  if  Captain sees  you  here?     Ah !  I  have  it, 

you  must — country  manager — provincial  enga — "  hurriedly 

muttered  Miss ,  as  the  room-door  opened,  and  a  gentleman 

of  a  lofty  and  military  bearing,  dressed  in  a  blue  surtout  and 
white  trowsers,  with  a  slight  walking-cane  in  his  hand,  entered, 
and  without  obser\'ing  Mr  Warningham,  who  at  the  moment 
happened  to  be  standing  rather  behind  the  door,  hurried  towards 

Miss ,   exclaiming,  with   a   gay  and  fond  air,   "  Ha,  my 

charming  De  Medici,  how  d' j^e  do  ? — Why,  whom  have  we  here  f  " 
he  enquired,  suddenly  breaking  oiF,  and  turning  with  an  aston- 
ished air  towards  Mr  Warningham. 

"  What  possible  business  can  this  ■person   have  here.  Miss 

? "  enquired  the  captain  with  a  cold  and  angry  air,  letting 

fall  her  hand,  which  he  had  grasped  on  entering,  and  eyeing  Mr 


88  DIARY  OF  A  Late  puvsician. 

Warningham  with  a  furious  scowl.  Miss muttered  some- 
thing indistinctly  about  business — a  provincial  engagement — 
and  looked  appealingly  towards  Mr  Warningham,  as  if  beseech- 
ing him  to  take  the  cue,  and  assume  the  character  of  a  country 
manager.  Mr  Warningham,  however,  was  not  experienced 
enough  in  matters  of  this  kind  to  take  the  hint. 

"  My  good  sir — I  beg  pardon,  captain" — said  he,  buttoning 
his  coat,  and  speaking  in  a  voice  almost  choked  with  fury — 
"  What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this  ?  What  do  you  mean,  sir,  bj 
this  insolent  bearing  towards  me?" 

"  Good  God!  Do  you  know,  sir,  whom  you  are  speaking  to?' 
enquired  the  captain  with  an  air  of  wonder. 

"  I  care  as  little  as  I  know,  sir;  but  this  I  know — I  shall  givt 
you  to  understand,  that,  whoever  you  are,  I  won't  be  bullied  by 
you." 

"  The  devil ! "  exclaimed  the  captain  slowly,  as  if  he  hardlj 

comprehended  what  was  passing.     Miss ,  pale  as  a  statue, 

and  trembling  from  head  to  foot,  leaned  speechless  against  thf 
corner  of  the  piano,  apparently  stupefied  by  the  scene  that  wat 
passing. 

"  Oh,  by !  this  will  never  do,"  at  length  exclaimed  the 

Captain,  as  he  rushed  up  to  Mr  Warningham,  and  struck  him 
furiously  over  the  shoulders  with  his  cane.  He  was  going  to 
seize  Mr  Warningham's  collar  with  his  left  hand,  as  if  for  the 
purpose  of  inflicting  further  chastisement,  when  Mr  Warning- 
ham, who  was  a  very  muscular  man,  shook  him  off,  and  dashed 

his  right  hand  full  into  the  face  of  the  Captain.     Miss  

shrieked  for  assistance — while  the  Captain  put  himself  instantly 
into  attitude,  and,  being  a  first-rate  "  miller,"  as  the  phrase  is, 
before  Mr  Warningham  could  prepare  himself  for  the  encounter, 
let  fall  a  sudden  shower  of  blows  about  Mr  Warningham's  head 
and  breast,  that  fell  on  him  like  the  strokes  of  a  sledge-hammer. 
He  was,  of  course,  instantly  laid  prostrate  on  the  floor  in  a  state 
of  insensibility,  and  recollected  nothing  further  till  he  found 

himself  lying  in  his  bed  at  the Hotel,  about  the  middle  of 

the  night,  faint  and  weak  with  the  loss  of  blood,  his  head  band- 
aged, and  amid  all  the  desagremens  and  attendance  of  a  sick 
miin's  chamber.    How  or  when  he  had  been  conveyed  to  the 


INTRIGUING  AND  MADNESS. CHAPTER  VII.  89 

hotel  he  knew  not,  till  he  was  informed,  some  weeks  afterwards, 

that  Captain ,  having  learned  his  residence  from  Miss , 

had  brought  him  in  his  carriage,  in  a  state  of  stupor.  All  the 
circumstances  above  related  combined  to  throw  Mr  Warning- 
ham  into  a  fever,  which  increased  upon  him;  the  state  of 
nervous  excitement  in  which  he  had  lived  for  the  last  few  days 
aggravated  the  other  symptoms — and  delirium  deepened  into 
downright  madness.  The  medical  man,  who  has  been  several 
times  before  mentioned  as  a  friendly  attendant  of  Mr  Warning- 
ham,  finding  that  matters  grew  so  serious,  and  being  unwilling 
any  longer  to  bear  the  sole  responsibility  of  the  case,  advised 
Mr  Warningham's  friends,  who  had  been  summoned  from  a 
distant  county  to  his  bedside,  to  call  me  in :  and  this  was  the 
statu  quo  of  affairs  when  I  paid  my  first  visit. 

On  entering  the  room  I  found  a  keeper  sitting  on  each  side  of 
the  bed  on  which  lay  Mr  Warningham,  who  was  raving  fear- 
fully, gnashing  his  teeth,  and  imprecating  the  most  frightful 

curses  upon  Captain  .     It  was  with  the  utmost  difficulty 

that  the  keepers  could  hold  him  down,  even  though  my  unfor- 
timate  patient  was  suffering  under  the  restraint  of  a  strait 
waistcoat.  His  countenance,  which,  I  think,  I  mentioned  was 
naturally  very  expressive,  if  not  handsome,  exhibited  the  most 
ghastly  contortions.  His  eyes  glared  into  every  corner  of  tho 
room,  and  seemed  about  to  start  from  their  sockets.  After 
standing  for  some  moments  a  silent  spectator  of  this  painful 
scene,  endeavouring  to  watch  the  current  of  his  malady,  and,  at 
the  same  time,  soothe  the  affliction  of  his  uncle,  who  was  stand- 
ing by  my  side  dreadfully  agitated,  I  ventured  to  approach 
nearer,  observing  him  almost  exhausted,  and  relapsing  into 
silence — undisturbed  but  by  heavy  and  stentorian  breathing.  He 
lay  with  his  face  buried  in  the  pillow ;  and,  on  my  putting  my 
fingers  to  his  temples,  he  suddenly  turned  his  face  towards  me. 
"  God  bless  me — Mr  Kean ! "  said  he,  in  an  altered  tone — "  this 
is  really  a  very  unexpected  honour ! "  He  seemed  embarrassea 
at  seeing  me.  I  determined  to  humour  his  fancy — the  only 
rational  method  of  dealing  with  such  patients.  I  may  as  well 
say,  in  passing,  that  some  persons  have  not  unfrequently  found 
a  resemblance — faint  and  slight,  if  any  at  all — between  my 


90  DIARY  OF  A  LATE   PHYSICIAN. 

features  and  those  of  the  celebrated  tragedian,  for  whom  I  was 
on  the  present  occasion  mistaken. 

"  Oh!  yours  are  terrible  eyes,  Mr  Kean — very,  very  terrible! 
Where  did  you  get  them  ?  What  fiend  touched  them  with  such 
unnatural  lustre  ?  They  are  not  human — no,  no  !  What  do  you 
thinlc  I  have  often  fancied  they  resembled?" 

"  Really,  1  can't  pretend  to  say,  sir,"  I  replied,  with  some 
curiosity. 

"  Why,  one  of  the  damned  inmates  of  hell — glaring  through 
the  fiery  bars  of  his  prison,"  repUed  Mr  Warningham  with  a 
shudder.     "  Is  not  that  a  ghastly  fancy?"  he  enquired. 

''  'Tis  horrible  enough,  indeed,"  said  I,  determined  to  humour 
him. 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha!  —  Ha,  ha,  ha!" — roared  the  wretched  maniac, 
with  a  laugh  which  made  us  aU  quake  roimd  his  bedside.  "  I 
can  say  better  things  than  that,  though  it  is  good !  It's  nothing 
like  the  way  in  which  I  shall  talk  to-morrow  morning — ha,  ha, 
ha ! — for  I  am  going  down  to  hell,  to  learn  some  of  the  fiends' 
talk ;  and  when  I  come  back,  I'll  give  you  a  lesson,  Mr  Kean, 
shall  be  worth  two  thousand  a-year  to  you — ha,  ha,  ha! — What 
d'ye  say  to  that,  Othello?"  He  paused,  and  continued  mumbling 
something  to  himself,  in  a  strangely  diflTerent  tone  of  voice  from 
that  in  which  he  had  just  addressed  me. 

"  Mr  Kean,  Mr  Kean,"  said  he  suddenly,  "  you're  the  very 
man  I  want ;  I  suppose  they  had  told  you  I  had  been  asking  for 
you,  eh  ?  " 

"  Yes,  certainly,  I  heard" 

"  Very  good — 'twas  civil  of  them ;  but,  now  you  are  here, 
just  shade  those  basilisk  eyes  of  yours,  for  they  blight  my  soul 
within  me."  I  did  as  he  directed.  "  Now,  I'll  tell  you  what  I've 
been  thinking — I've  got  a  tragedy  ready,  very  nearly  at  least, 
and  there's  a  magnificent  character  for  you  in  it — expressly 
written  for  you— a  compound  of  Richard,  Shylock,  and  Sir 
Giles — your  masterpiece — a  sort  of  quartmn  quiddam — eh — you 
hear  me,  Mr  Kean  ?  " 

"  Ay,  and  mark  thee,  too,  Ilal,"  I  replied,  thinking  a  quota- 
tion from  his  favourite  Shakspeare  would  soothe  and  flatter  his 
inflamed  fancy. 


INTKIGTJING  AND  MADNESS. CHAPTER  VII.  91 

"  Ah — aptly  quoted — happy,  happy  ! — by  the  way,  talking  of 
that,  I  don't  at  all  admire  your  personation  of  Hamlet — I  don't, 
Mr  Kean,  I  doiit.  'Tis  utterly  misconceived — wrong  from  begin- 
ning to  end — it  is  really.  You  see  what  an  independent,  straight- 
forward critic  I  am — ha,  ha,  ha  ! " — accompanying  the  words  with 
a  laugh,  if  not  as  loud,  as  fearful  as  his  former  ones.  I  told  him, 
I  bowed  to  his  judgment. 

"  Good,"  he  answered ;  "  genius  should  always  be  candid. 
Macready  has  a  single  whisper,  when  he  enquires,  '7s  it  the 
King?'  which  is  worth  all  your  fiendish  mutterings  and  gasp- 
ings — ha,  ha!  'Does  the  galled  jade  wince?  Her  withers  are 
un  wrung' — Mr  Kean,  how  absurd  you  are,  ill  mannered — pardon 
me  for  saying  it — for  interrupting  me,"  he  said,  after  a  pause  ; 
adding  with  a  puzzled  air,  "  Wliat  was  it  I  was  talking  about 
when  you  interrupted  me  ?" 

"  Do  you  mean  the  tragedy  ?  " (I  had  not  opened  my  lips 

to  interrupt  him.) 

"Ha — the  tragedy. 

The  play,  the  play's  the  thing 

AVherein  I'll  catch  the  conscience  of  the  King, 

Ah — the  tragedy  was  it  I  was  mentioning?  Hem  acu — acu 
tetigisti — that's  Latin,  Mr  Kean  !  Did  you  ever  learn  Latin  and 
Greek,  eh?" — I  told  him  I  had  studied  them  a  little. 

"  What  can  you  mean  by  interrupting  me  thus  unmannerly  ? — 
Mr  Kean,  I  won't  stand  it.  Once  more — lohat  was  it  I  was  talking 
about  a  few  minutes  ago  ?"  He  had  again  let  slip  the  thread  of 
his  thoughts.  "  A  digression  this,  Mr  Kean  ;  I  must  be  mad — 
indeed  I  must ! "  he  continued,  with  a  shudder  and  a  look  of  sudden 
sanity,  "  I  must  be  mad,  and  I  can't  help  thinking  what  a  pro- 
found knowledge  of  human  nature  Shakspeare  shows  when  he 
makes  memory  the  test  of  sanity — a  vast  depth  of  philosophy  in 
it,  eh  ?  D'ye  recollect  the  passage — eh,  Kean  ?  "  I  said  I  cer- 
tainly could  not  call  it  to  mind. 

"  Then  it's  infamous ! — a  shame  and  disgrace  to  you.  It's 
quite  true  what  people  say  of  you — you  are  a  mere  tragedy 
hack !  Why  won't  you  try  to  get  out  of  that  mill-horse  round 
of  your  hackneyed  characters  ?    Excuse  me ;  you  know  I  am  a 


92  DIAST  OP  A  LATE  PHTSICIAH. 

vast  admirer  of  yours,  but  an  honest  one! — Curse  me,"  after  a 
sudden  pause,  adding,  with  a  bewildered  and  angry  air,  "  ivJiat 
was  it  I  was  going  to  say  ? — I've  lost  it  again  ! — oh,  a  passage 

from  Shakspeare — memory  test  of Ah,  now  we  have  him ! 

'Tis  this :  mark  and  remember  it ! — 'tis  in  King  Lear — 

• Bring  me  to  the  test. 

And  I  the  matter  will  re-word,  which  maclnesi 
Would  gambol  from. 

Profoundly  true — isn't  it,  Kean  ?" — Of  course,  I  acquiesced. 

"  Ah,"  he  resumed,  with  a  pleased  smile,  "  nobody  now  can 
write  like  that  except  -myself — Go  it,  Harry — ha,  ha,  ha ! — 
Who — 00 — 0  ! "  uttering  the  strangest  kind  of  revolting  cry  I 
ever  heard.  "Oh  dear,  dear  me,  what  ytas  it  I  was  saying? 
The  thought  keeps  slipping  from  me  like  a  lithe  eel ;  I  can't 
hold  it.  Eels,  by  the  way,  are  nothing  but  a  sort  of  water-snake 
— 'tis  brutal  to  eat  them  !  What  made  me  name  eels,  Mr  Kean?" 
I  reminded  him.  "  Ah,  there  must  be  a  screw  loose — something 
wrong  here"  shaking  his  head;  "  it's  all  upside  down — ha! 
what  was  it  now  ?  "  I  once  more  recalled  it  to  his  mind,  for  I 
saw  he  was  fretting  liimself  with  vexation  at  being  unable  to  take 
up  the  chain  of  his  thoughts. 

"  Ah ! — well  now,  once  more — I  said  I'd  a  character  for  you 
— good;  do  it  justice — or,  by  my  life,  I'll  hiss  you  like  a  huge 
boa  coiled  in  the  middle  of  the  pit !  There's  a  thought  for  you, 
by  the  way! — Stay — I'm  losing  the  thought  again — hold  it — 
hold  it" 

"  The  tragedy,  sir  " 

"  Ah,  to  be  sure — I've  another  character  for  Miss (nam- 
ing the  actress  before  mentioned) — magnificent  queen  of  beauty 
—nightingale  of  song— radiant — peerless — Ah,  lady,  look  on 
me! — look  on  me! "  and  he  suddenly  burst  into  one  of  the  most 
tiger-like  howls  I  could  conceive  capable  of  being  uttered  by  a 
human  being.  It  must  have  been  heard  in  the  street  and  mar- 
ket without.  We  who  were  round  him  stood  listening,  chilled 
with  horror.  When  he  had  ceased,  I  said,  in  a  soothing  whisper, 
"  Compose  yourself,  Mr  Warningham — you'll  see  her  by  and 
by."  He  looked  me  full  in  the  face,  and  uttered  as  shocking  a 
yell  as  before. 


INTRIGTJINCJ  AND  MADNESS. CHAPTER  Vn.  93 

"Avaunt!  Out  on  ye!  scoundrels! — fiends!"  he  shouted, 
struggling  with  the  men  who  were  endeavouring  to  hold  him 
down.  "  Are  you  come  to  murder  me?  Ila — a — a — a!"  and  he 
fell  back  as  though  he  was  in  the  act  of  being  choked  or  throt- 
tled. 

"Where — where  is  the  fiend  who  struck  me?" — he  groaned, 
In  a  fiercer  under-tone;  "and  in  her  presence,  too;  and  she 
stood  by  looking  on — cruel,  beautiful,  deceitful  woman!  Did 
she  turn  pale  and  tremble?  Will  not  I  have  his  blood — blood — 
blood  ?  "  and  he  clutched  his  fists  with  a  savage  and  murderous 
force.  "  Ah !  you  around  me  say,  does  not  blood  cleanse  the 
deepest,  foulest  stain — or  hide  it?  Pour  it  on,  warm  and  reek- 
ing— a  crimson  flood — and  never  trust  me  if  it  does  not  wash 
out  insult  for  ever!  Ha,  ha,  ha!  Oh,  let  me  loose!  let  me  loose! 
Let  me  but  cast  my  eyes  on  the  insolent  ruffian— the  brutal 
bully — let  me  but  lay  hands  on  him ! "  and  he  drew  in  his  breath, 
with  a  long,  fierce,  and  deep  respiration.  "  Will  I  not  shake 
him  out  of  his  military  trappings  and  fooleries?  Ha,  devils! 
unhand  me.  I  say,  unhand  me,  and  let  me  loose  on  this  Cap- 
tain   ! " 

In  this  strain  the  unhappy  young  man  continued  raving  for 
about  ten  minutes  longer,  till  he  utterly  exhausted  himself. 
The  paroxysm  was  over  for  the  present.  The  keepers,  aware 
of  this,  (for,  of  course,  they  were  accustomed  to  such  fearful 
scenes  as  these,  and  preserved  the  most  cool  and  matter-of-fact 
demeanour  conceivable,)  relaxed  their  hold.  Mr  Warningham 
lay  perfectly  motionless,  with  his  eyes  closed,  breathing  slow 
and  heavily,  while  the  perspiration  burst  from  every  pore. 
His  pulse  and  other  symptoms  showed  me  that  a  few  more 
similar  paroxysms  would  destroy  him ;  and  that,  consequently, 
the  most  active  remedies  must  be  had  recourse  to  immediately. 
I  therefore  directed  what  was  to  be  done — his  head  to  be  shaved 
— that  he  should  be  bled  copiouslj' — kept  perfectly  cool  and 
tranquil — and  prescribed  such  medicines  as  I  conceived  most 
calculated  to  effect  this  object.     On  my  way  down  stairs,  I 

encountered  Mr ,  the  proprietor  or  landlord  of  the  hotel, 

who,  with  a  very  agitated  air,  told  me,  he  must  insist  on  having 
Mr  Warningham  removed  immediately  from  the  hotel ;  for  that 


94  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

his  ravings  disturbed  and  agitated  every  body  in  tlie  place,  and 
had  been  loudly  complained  of.  Seeing  the  reasonableness  of 
this,  my  patient  was,  with  my  sanction,  conveyed  that  evening 
to  airy  and  genteel  lodgings  in  one  of  the  adjoining  streets. 
The  three  or  four  following  visits  I  paid  him,  presented  scenes 
little  varying  from  the  one  I  have  above  been  attempting  to 
describe.     They  gradually,  however,  abated  in  violence. 

I  shall  not  be  guilty  of  extravagance  or  exaggeration,  if  I 
protest,  that  there  was  sometimes  a  vein  of  sublimity  in  his 
ravings.  He  really  said  some  of  the  very  finest  things  I  ever 
heard.  This  need  not  occasion  wonder,  if  it  be  recollected,  that 
"  out  of  the  fulness  of  the  heart  the  mouth  speaketh;"  and  Mr 
Warningham's  naturally  powerful  mind  was  filled  with  accumu- 
lated stores,  acquired  from  almost  every  region  of  literature. 
His  fancy  was  deeply  tinged  with  Germanism — with  diablerie — 
and  some  of  his  ghostly  images  used  to  haunt  and  creep  after 
me,  like  spirits,  gibbering  and  chattering  the  expressions  with 
which  the  maniac  had  conjured  them  into  being. 

To  me,  nothing  is  so  affecting — so  terrible — so  humiliating, 
as  to  see  a  powerful  intellect,  like  that  of  Mr  Warningham,  the 
prey  of  insanity,  exhibiting  glimpses  of  greatness  and  beauty, 
amid  all  the  chaotic  gloom  and  havoc  of  madness;  reminding* 
one  of  the  mighty  fragments  of  some  dilapidated  structure  of 
Greece  or  Rome,  mouldering  apart  from  one  another,  still  dis- 
playing the  exquisite  moulding  and  chiseling  of  the  artist,  and 
enhancing  the  beholder's  regret  that  so  glorious  a  fabric  should 
have  been  destroyed  by  the  ruthless  hand  of  time.  Insanity, 
indeed,  makes  the  most  fearful  inroads  on  an  intellect  distin- 
guished by  its  activity;  and  the  flame  is  fed  rapidly  by  the  fuel 
afforded  from  an  excitable  and  vigorous  fancy.  A  tremendous 
responsibility  is  incurred,  in  such  cases,  by  the  medical  attend- 
ants. Long  experience  has  convinced  me,  that  the  only  successful 
way  of  dealing  with  such  patients  as  Mr  Warningham,  is  chim- 
ing in  readily  with  their  various  fancies,  without  seeming  in 
the  slightest  degree  shocked  or  alarmed  by  the  most  monstrous 

*  Two  newspapers  have  charged  the  writer  with  borrowing  this  image  from 
Da  IIallam's  Treatise  on  Insanity.  If  that  author  has  a  similar  thought,  the 
coincidence  is  purely  accidental;  for  I  nemr  saw  his  book  in  my  life. 


INTRIGUIXG  AND  MADNESS. CHAPTER  VII.  95 

extravagances.  The  patient  must  never  be  startled  by  any 
appearance  of  surprize  or  apprehension  from  those  around  him 
— never  irritated  by  contradiction,  or  indications  of  impatience. 
Should  this  be  done  by  some  inexperienced  attendant,  the 
mischief  may  prove  irremediable  by  any  subsequent  treatment ; 
the  flame  will  blaze  out  with  a  fury  which  will  consume 
instantly  every  vestige  of  intellectual  structure,  leaving  the 
body — the  shell — the  bare,  blackened  walls  alone, 
A  scoff,  a  jest,  a  'byeword  through  the  -world. 

Let  the  patient  have  sea- room ;  allow  him  to  dash  about  for  awhile 
in  the  tempest  and  whirlwind  of  his  disordered  faculties  ;  while 
all  that  is  necessary  from  those  around,  is  to  watch  the  critical 
moment,  and  pour  the  oil  of  soothing  acquiescence  on  the  foam- 
ing waters.  Depend  upon  it,  the  uproar  will  subside  when  the 
winds  of  opposition  cease. — To  return,  however,  to  Mr  Warning- 
ham.  The  incubus  which  had  brooded  over  his  intellects  for 
more  than  a  week,  at  length  disappeared,  leaving  its  victim 
trembling  on  the  very  verge  bf  the  grave.  In  truth,  I  do  not 
recollect  ever  seeing  a  patient  whose  energies,  both  physical  and 
mental,  were  so  dreadfully  shattered.  He  had  lost  almost  all 
muscular  power.  He  could  not  raise  his  hand  to  his  head,  alter 
his  position  in  the  bed,  or  even  masticate  his  food.  For  several 
days,  it  could  barely  be  said  that  he  existed.  He  could  utter 
nothing  more  than  an  almost  inaudible  whisper,  and  seemed 
utterly  unconscious  of  what  was  passing  around  him.  His  sis- 
ter, a  young  and  very  interesting  woman,  had  flown  to  his 
bedside  immediately  the  family  were  acquainted  with  his  illness, 
and  had  continued  ever  since  in  daily  and  nightly  attendance  on 
him,  till  she  herself  seemed  almost  worn  out.  How  I  loved  her 
for  her  pallid,  exhausted,  anxious,  yet  affectionate  looks  !  Had 
not  this  illness  intervened,  she  would  have  been  before  this  time 
married  to  a  rising  young  man  at  the  Bar ;  yet  her  devoted  sis- 
terly sympathies  attached  her  to  her  brother's  bedside  without 
repining,  and  she  would  never  think  of  leaving  him.  Her  feel- 
ings may  be  conceived,  when  it  is  known  that  she  was  in  a  great 
measure  acquainted  with  the  cause  of  her  brother's  sudden 
illness ;  and  it  was  her  painful  duty  to  sit  and  listen  to  many 


98  DIAKT  OF  A  LATE  PHTSICIAN 

unconscious  disclosures  of  the  most  afflicting  nature.  This  lat- 
ter circumstance  furnished  the  first  source  of  uneasiness  to  Mr 
Warningham,  on  recovering  the  exercise  of  his  rational  faculties. 
He  was  excessively  agitated  at  the  idea  of  his  having  alluded  to 
and  described  the  dissipated  and  profligate  scenes  of  his  college 
life  ;  and  -when  he  had  once  compelled  me  to  acknowledge  that 
his  sister  and  other  relations  were  apprized  of  the  events  which 
led  to  his  illness,  he  sank  into  moody  silence  for  some  time, 
evidently  scourging  himself  with  the  heaviest  self-reproaches, 
and  presently  exclaimed — "  Well,  doctor,  thus,  you  see  has 

Even-handed  justice 
Compell'd  the  poison'd  chalice  to  my  lips. 

and  I  have  drunk  the  foul  draught  to  the  dregs.  Yet,  though  I 
would  at  this  moment  lay  down  half  my  fortune  to  blot  from 
their  memories  what  they  must  have  heard  me  utter,  I  shall 
submit  in  silence — I  have  richly  earned  it ! — I  now,  however, 
bid  farewell  to  debauchery — profligacy — dissipation,  for  ever." 
— I  interrupted  him  by  saying,  I  was  not  aware,  nor  were  his 
relatives,  that  he  had  been  publicly  distinguished  as  a  debauchee. 
"  Why,  doctor,"  he  replied,  "  possibly  not — there  may  be  others 
who  have  exposed  themselves  more  absurdly  than  I  have — who 
have  drunk  and  raked  more — but  mine  has  been  the  viler  pro- 
fligacy of  the  heart — the  dissipation  of  t\ie  feelings.  But  it  shall 
cease !  God  knows  I  never  thoroughly  enjoyed  it,  though  it  has 
occasioned  me  a  delirious  sort  of  excitement,  which  has  at  length 
nearly  destroyed  me.  I  have  clambered  out  of  the  scorching 
crater  of  Etna,  scathed,  but  not  consumed.  I  will  now  descend 
into  the  tranquil  vales  of  virtue,  and  never,  never  leave  them ! " 
He  wept — for  he  had  not  yet  recovered  the  tone  or  mastery  of 
his  feelings.  These  salutary  thoughts  led  to  a  permanent  refor- 
mation ;  his  illness,  in  short,  had  produced  its  eftect.  One  other 
thing  there  was  which  yet  occasioned  him  disquietude  and 
uncertainty ;  he  said  he  felt  bound  to  seek  the  usual  "  satisfac- 
tion "  from  Captain  !     I  and  all  around  him,  to  whom  he 

hinted  it,  scouted  the  idea;  and  he  himself  relinquished  it  on 

hearing  that  Captain had  called  often  during  his  illness, 

and  left  many  cards,  with  the  most  anxious  enquiries  after  his 


THE  BROKEN  HEABT. —  CHAPTER  Vin.  97 

health,  and,  in  a  day  or  two,  had  a  private  interview  with  Mr 
Warningham,  when  he  apologized,  in  the  most  prompt  and  hand- 
some manner,  for  his  violent  conduct,  and  expressed  the  liveliest 
regrets  at  the  serious  consequences  with  which  it  had  been 
attended. 

Mr  Warningham,  to  conclude,  recovered  but  slowly ;  and  as 
soon  as  his  vreakness  would  admit  of  the  journey,  removed  to  the 

family  house  in shire ;  from  thence  he  went  to  the  seaside, 

and  stayed  there  till  the  close  of  the  autumn,  reading  philosophy 
and  some  of  the  leading  writers  on  morals.  He  was  married  in 
October,  and  set  off  for  the  continent  in  the  spring.  His  con- 
stitution, however,  had  received  a  shock  from  which  it  never 
recovered ;  and,  two  years  after,  Mr  Warningham  died  of  a 
decline  at  Genoa. 


CHAPTER  VIIL 


THE  BKOEEN  HEART. 


There  was  a  large  and  gay  party  assembled  one  evening,  in 
the  memorable  month  of  June  1815,  at  a  house  in  the  remote 
western  suburbs  of  London.  Throngs  of  handsome  and  well- 
dressed  women — a  large  retinue  of  the  leading  men  about  town 
— the  dazzling  light  of  chandeliers  blazing  like  three  suns  over- 
head— the  charms  of  music  and  dancing — together  with  that 
tone  of  excitement  then  pervading  society  at  large,  owing  to  our 
successful  continental  campaigns,  which  maddened  England 
with  almost  daily  annunciations  of  victory — all  these  circum- 
stances, I  say,  combined  to  supply  spirit  to  every  party.  In 
fact,  England  was  almost  turned  upside  down  with  universal 
feting !  Mrs ,  the  lady  whose  party  I  have  just  been  men- 
tioning, was  in  ecstasy  at  the  eclat  with  which  the  whole 
was  going  off,  and  charmed  with  the  buoyant  animation  with 
which  all  seemed  inclined  to  contribute  their  quota  to  the  even- 
ing's amusement.     A  young  lady  of  some  personal  attractions, 

1  •  G 


So  DIAKT  OF  A  lATE  PHISICIAN. 

most  amiable  manners,  and  great  accomplishments — particularly 
musical — had  been  repeatedly  solicited  to  sit  down  to  the  piano, 
for  the  purpose  of  favouring  the  company  with  the  sweet  Scot- 
tish air,  "  The  Banks  of  Allan  Water."  For  a  long  time,  how- 
ever, she  steadfastly  resisted  their  importunities,  on  the  plea  of 
low  spirits.  There  was  evidently  an  air  of  deep  pensiveness,  if 
not  melancholy,  about  her,  which  ought  to  have  corroborated 
the  truth  of  the  plea  she  urged.  She  did  not  seem  to  gather 
excitement  with  the  rest;  and  rather  endured,  than  shared,  the 
gayeties  of  the  evening.  Of  course,  the  young  folks  around  her 
of  her  own  sex  whispered  their  suspicions  that  she  was  in  love; 
and,  in  point  of  fact,  it  was  well  known  by  several  present,  that 
Miss was  engaged  to  a  young  officer  who  had  earned  con- 
siderable distinction  in  the  Peninsular  campaign,  and  to  whom 
she  was  to  be  united  on  his  return  from  the  continent.  It  need 
not,  therefore,  be  wondered  at,  that  a  thought  of  the  various 
casualties  to  which  a  soldier's  life  is  exposed — especially  a  bold 
and  brave  young  soldier,  such  as  her  intended  had  proved  him- 
Sfclf^ — and  the  possibility,  if  not  probability  that  he  might,  alas ! 
never 

Return  to  claim  his  blushing  hride, 

but  be  left  behind  among  the  glorious  throng  of  the  fallen,  suf- 
ficed to  overcast  her  mind  with  gloomy  anxieties  and  apprehen- 
sions. It  was,  indeed,  owing  solely  to  the  affectionate  importu- 
nities of  her  relatives,  that  she  was  prevailed  on  to  be  seen  in 
society  at  all.  Had  her  own  inclinations  been  consulted,  she 
would  have  sought  solitude,  where  she  might,  with  weeping  and 
trembling,  commend  her  hopes  to  the  hands  of  Him  "  who  seeth 
in  secret,"  and  "in  whose  hands  are  the  issues"  of  battle.    As, 

however.  Miss 's  rich  contralto  voice,  and  skilful  powers  of 

accompaniment,  were  much  talked  of,  the  company  would  listen 
to  no  excuses  or  apologies ;  so  the  poor  girl  was  absolutely  baited 
into  sitting  down  to  the  piano,  when  she  ran  over  a  few  melan- 
choly chords  with  an  air  of  reluctance  and  displacency.  Her 
sympathies  were  soon  excited  by  the  fine  tones — the  tumultuous 
melody — of  the  keys  she  touched ;  and  she  presently  struck  into 
the  soft  and  soothing  symphony  of  "  The  Banks  of  Allan  Water.' 
The  breathless  silence  of  the  bystanders — for  nearly  all  the 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. CHAPTER  VIH.  S9  ■ 

company  had  thronged  around — was  at  length  broken  by  her 
voice,  stealing  "like  faint  blue  gushing  streams"  on  the  de- 
lighted ears  of  her  auditors,  as  she  commenced  singing  that 
exquisite  little  ballad,  with  the  most  touching  pathos  and  sim- 
plicity.    She  had  just  commenced  the  verse, 

For  his  bride,  a  soldier  sought  her, 
And  a  winning  tongue  had  he  ! 

when,  to  the  surprise  of  every  body  around  her,  she  suddenly 
ceased  playing  and  singing,  without  removing  her  hands  from 
the  instrument,  and  gazed  steadfastly  forward  with  a  vacant  air, 
while  the  colour  faded  from  her  cheeks,  and  left  them  pale  as 
the  lily.  She  continued  thus  for  some  moments,  to  the  alarm 
and  astonishment  of  the  company — motionless,  and  apparently 
unconscious  of  any  one's  presence.  Her  elder  sister,  much  agi- 
tated, stepped  towards  her,  placed  her  hand  on  her  shoulder, 
endeavoured  gently  to  rouse  her,  and  said,  hurriedly,  "  Anne, 

Anne!  what  is  the  matter?"   Miss made  no  answer;  but  a 

few  moments  after,  without  moving  her  eyes,  suddenly  burst 
into  a  piercing  shriek!  Consternation  seized  all  present. 

"Sister — sister! — Dear  Anne,  are  you  Ul?"  again  enquired 
her  trembling  sister,  endeavouring  to  rouse  her,  but  in  vain. 

Miss did  not  seem  either  to  see  or  hear  her.    Her  eyes 

still  gazed  fixedly  forward,  till  they  seemed  gradually  to  expand, 
as  it  were,  with  an  expression  of  glassy  horror.  All  present 
seemed  utterly  confounded,  and  afraid  to  interfere  mth  her. 
Whispers  were  heard,  "  She's  ill — in  a  fit — run  for  some  water ! 
Good  God! — How  strange! — What  a  piercing  shriek!" — &c. 

&c.     At  length  Miss 's  lips  moved.     She  began  to  mutter 

inaudibly;  but  by  and  by  those  immediately  near  her  could 
distinguish  the  words,  "There! — there  they  are — with  their 
lanterns. — Oh!  they  are  looking  out  for  the  de — a — d! — They 
turn  over  the  heaps. — Ah ! — now — no ; — that  little  hill  of  slain 
— see,  see ! — they  are  turning  them  over  one  by  one — There ! — 
THERE  HE  is! — Oh!  horror!  horror!  horror! — right  through 
THE  HEART ! "  and,  with  a  long  shuddering  groa«,  she  fell  sense- 
less into  the  arms  of  her  horror-struck  sister.  Of  course,  all 
were  in  confusion  and  dismay — not  a  face  present  but  was 
blanched  with  agitation  and  affright,  on  hearing  the  extraordi- 


100  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

nary  words  she  uttered.     With  due  delicacy  and  propriety  of 
feeling,  all  those  whose  carriages  had  happened  to  have  already 
arrived,  instantly  took  their  departure,  to  prevent  their  presence 
embarrassing  or  interfering  with  the  family,  who  were  already 
sufficiently  bewildered.     The  room  was   soon   thinned  of  all, 
except  those  who  were  immediately  engaged  in  rendering  their 
services  to  the  young  lady;  and  a  servant  was  instantly  dis- 
patched with  a  horse,  for  me.     On  my  arrival,  I  found  her  in 
bed  (still  at  the  house  where  the  party  was  given,  which  was 
that  of  the  young  lady's  sister-in-law).     She  had  fallen  into  a 
succession  of  swoons  ever  since  she  had  been  carried  up  from 
the  drawing-room,  and  was  perfectly  senseless  when  I  entered 
the  bedchamber  where  she  lay.     She  had  not  spoken  a  syllable 
since  uttering  the  singular  words  just  related ;  and  her  whole 
frame  was  cold  and  rigid — in  fact,  she  seemed  to  have  received 
some  strange  shock,  which  had  altogether  paralyzed  her.    By 
the  use,  however,  of  strong  stimulants,  we  succeeded  in  at  length 
restoring  her  to  something  like  consciousness ;  but  I  think  it 
would  have  been  better  for  her,  judging  from  the  event,  never  to 
have  woke  again  from  forgetfulness.    She  opened  her  eyes  under 
the  influence  of  the  searching  stimulants  we  applied,  and  stared 
vacantly  for  an  instant  on  those  standing  round  her  bedside. 
Her  countenance,  of  an  ashy  hue,  was  damp  with  clammy  per- 
spiration, and  she  lay  perfectly  motionless,  except  when  her 
frame  undulated  with  long  deep-drawn  sighs. 

"  Oh,  wretched,  wretched,  wretched  girl!"  she  murmured  at 
length,  "  Why  have  I  lived  till  now  ?  Why  did  you  not  suffer 
me  to  expire  ?  He  called  me  to  join  him— I  was  going— and 
you  will  not  let  me— but  I  must  go— yes,  yes ! " 

"  Anne — dearest ! — why  do  you  talk  so  ?  Charles  is  not  gone 
— he  will  return  soon — he  will  indeed,"  sobbed  her  sister. 

"  Oh,  never,  never !  You  could  not  see  what  I  saw,  Jane"— 
she  shuddered— "Oh,  it  was  frightful!  How  they  tumbled 
about  the  heaps  of  the  dead!— how  they  stripped— oh,  horror, 
horror ! " 

"  My  dear  Miss ,  you  are  dreaming — raving — indeed  you 

are,"  said  I,  holding  her  hand  in  mine.     "  Come,  come,  ynu 
must  not  give  way  to  such  gloomy,  such  nervous  fancies— you 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. CHAPTER  VIII.  10] 

must  not  indeed.  You  are  frightening  your  friends  to  no 
purpose." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  replied,  looking  me  suddenly  full 
in  the  face.  "  I  tell  you  it  is  true !  Ah  me !  Charles  is  dead  ! — 
I  know  it — I  saw  him!     Shot  right  through  the  heart!    They 

were  stripping  him,  when" ,  and  heaving  three  or  four  short 

convulsive  sobs,  she  again  swooned.     Mrs ,  the  lady  of  the 

house  (the  sister-in-law  of  Miss  ,  as  I  think  I  have  men- 
tioned), could  endure  the  distressing  scene  no  longer,  and  was 
carried  out  of  the  room,  fainting,  in  the  arms  of  her  husband. 

With  great  difficulty,  we  succeeded  in  restoring  Miss once 

more  to  consciousness ;  but  the  frequency  and  duration  of  her 
relapses  began  seriously  to  alarm  me.  The  spirit,  being  brought 
so  often  to  the  brink,  might  at  last  suddenly  flit  off  into  eter- 
nity without  any  one's  being  aware  of  it.  I,  of  course,  did  all 
that  my  professional  knowledge  and  experience  suggested  ;  and, 
after  expressing  my  readiness  to  remain  all  night  in  the  house, 

in  the  event  of  any  sudden  alteration  in  Miss for  the  worse, 

I  took  my  departure,  promising  to  call  very  early  in  the  morn- 
ing.    Before  leaving,  Mr had  acquainted  me  with  all  the 

particulars  above  related ;  and,  as  I  rode  home,  I  could  not  help 
feeling  the  liveliest  curiosity,  mingled  with  the  most  intense 
sympathy  for  the  unfortunate  sufferer,  to  see  whether  the  cor- 
roborating event  would  stamp  the  present  as  one  of  those  extra- 
ordinary occurrences,  which  occasionally  "  come  o'er  us  like  a 
summer  cloud,"  astonishing  and  perplexing  every  one. 

"  The  next  morning,  about  nine  o'clock,  I  was  again  at  Miss 

's  bedside.     She  was  nearly  in  the  same  state  as  that  in  which 

I  had  left  her  the  preceding  evening — only  feebler,  and  almost 
continually  stupefied.  She  seemed,  as  it  were,  stunned  with  some 
severe,  but  invisible  stroke.  She  said  scarcely  any  thing,  but 
often  uttered  a  low,  moaning,  indistinct  sound,  and  whispered, 
at  intervals,  "Yes  —  shortly,  Charles,  shortly — to-morrow." 
There  was  no  rousing  her  by  conversation  ;  she  noticed  no  one, 
and  would  answer  no  questions.  I  suggested  the  propriety  of 
calling  in  additional  medical  assistance  ;  and,  in  the  evening,  met 
two  eminent  brother  physicians  in  consultation  at  her  bedside. 
We  came  to  the  conclusion  that  she  was  sinkmg  rapidly,  and 


102  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  I'HTSICIAK. 

that,  unless  some  miracle  intervened  to  restore  her  energies,  she 
would  continue  with  us  but  a  very  little  longer.  After  my  bro- 
ther physicians  had  left,  I  returned  to  the  sick-chamber,  and  sat 

by  Miss 's  bedside  for  more  than  an  hour.     My  feelings 

were  much  agitated  at  witnessing  her  singular  and  affecting 
situation.  There  was  such  a  sweet  and  sorrowful  expression 
about  her  pallid  features,  deepening,  occasionally,  into  such 
hopelessness  of  heart-broken  anguish,  as  no  one  could  contem- 
plate without  deep  emotion.  There  was,  besides,  something 
mysterious  and  awing — something  of  what  in  Scotland  is  called 
second  sight — in  the  circumstances  which  had  occasioned  her 
illness. 

"  Gone — gone ! "  she  murmured,  with  closed  eyes,  while  I  was 
sitting  and  gazing  in  silence  on  her;  "gone — and  in  glory! 
I  shall  see  the  young  conqueror — I  shall !  How  he  will  love  me ! 
Ah  !  I  recollect,"  she  continued,  after  a  long  interval,  "  it  was 
'  The  Banks  of  AUan  Water'  those  cruel  people  made  me  sing — 
and  my  heart  breaking  the  while ! — What  was  the  verse  I  was 
singing  when  I  saw" — she  shuddered — "  oh  ! — this — 

For  his  bride,  a  soldier  sought  her, 

And  a  winning  tongue  had  he — 
On  the  banks  of  AUan  Water 

None  so  gay  as  she  I 
But  the  summer  grief  had  brought  her, 

And  the  soldier — false  was  he — 

Oh,  no,  no,  never — Charles — my  poor  murdered  Charles— 
never  !"  she  groaned;  and  spoke  no  more  that  night.  She  con- 
tinued utterly  deaf  to  all  that  was  said  in  the  way  of  sympathy  or 
remonstrance ;  and,  if  her  lips  moved  at  all,  it  was  only  to  utter 
faintly  some  such  words  as  "  Oh,  let  me — let  me  leave  in  peace !" 
During  the  two  next  days  she  continued  drooping  rapidly.  The 
only  circumstance  about  her  demeanour  particularly  noticed,  was, 
that  she  once  moved  her  hands  for  a  moment  over  the  counter- 
pane, as  though  she  were  playing  the- piano — a  sudden  flush 
overspread  her  features — her  eyes  stared,  as  though  she  was 
startled  by  the  appearance  of  some  phantom  or  other,  and  she 
gasped,  "There,  there!" — after  which  she  relapsed  into  her  for- 
mer state  of  stupor. 


THE  BROKEN  HEAET. — CHAPTEU  VIII.         103 

"  Now,  will  it  be  credited  that,  on  the  fourth  morning  of 

Miss  's  illness,  a  letter  was  received  from  Paris  by  her 

family,  with  a  black  seal,  and  franked  by  the  noble  colonel  of 
the  regiment  in  which  Charles had  served,  communica- 
ting the  melancholy  intelligence,  that  the  young  captain  had 
fallen  towards  the  close  of  the  battle  of  Waterloo;  for,  while  in 
the  act  of  charging  at  the  head  of  his  corps,  a  French  cavalry 
officer  shot  him  with  his  pistol  right  through  the  heart!  The 
whole  family,  with  all  their  acquaintance,  were  unutterably 
shocked  at  the  news,  and  almost  petrified  with  amazement  at 

the  strange  corroboration  of  Miss 's  prediction.     How  to 

communicate  it  to  the  poor  sufferer  was  now  a  serious  question ; 
or  whether  to  communicate  it  at  all  at  present.  The  family,  at 
last,  considering  that  it  would  be  unjustifiable  in  them  any 
longer  to  withhold  the  intelligence,  intrusted  the  painful  duty  to 
me.  I  therefore  repaired  to  her  bedside  alone,  in  the  evening  of 
the  day  on  which  the  letter  had  been  received :  that  evening  was 
the  last  of  her  life!  I  sat  down  in  my  usual  place  beside  her, 
and  her  pulse,  countenance,  breathing,  cold  extremities,  together 
with  the  fact  that  she  had  taken  no  nourishment  whatever  since 
she  had  been  laid  on  her  bed,  convinced  me  that  the  poor  girl's 
sufferings  were  soon  to  terminate.  I  was  at  a  loss,  for  a  length 
of  time,  how  to  break  the  oppressive  silence.  Observing,  how- 
ever, her  fading  eyes  fked  on  me,  I  determined,  as  it  were  acci- 
dentally, to  attract  them  to  the  fatal  letter  which  I  then  held  in 
my  hand.  After  a  while  she  observed  it;  her  eye  suddenly  set- 
tled on  the  ample  coroneted  seal,  and  the  sight  operated  some- 
thing like  an  electric  shock.  She  seemed  struggling  to  speak, 
but  in  vain.  I  now  wished  to  Heaven  I  had  never  agreed  to 
undertake  the  duty  which  had  been  imposed  upon  me.  I  opened 
the  letter,  and,  looking  steadfastly  at  her,  said,  in  as  soothino- 

tones  as  my  agitation  could  command — "  My  dear  girl now 

don't  be  alarmed,  or  I  shall  not  tell  you  what  I  was  going  to 
tell  you." — She  trembled,  and  her  sensibilities  seemed  suddenly 
restored;  for  her  eye  assumed  an  expression  of  alarmed  intelli- 
gence, and  her  lips  moved  about  like  those  of  a  person  who 
feels  them  parched  with  agitation,  and  endeavours  to  moisten 
them.     "  This  letter  has  been  received  to-day  from  Paris,"  I 


104  DIAEY  OP  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

continued :  "  it  is  from  Colonel  ,  and  brings  word  that — 

that — that" — I  felt  suddenly  choked,  and  could  not  bring  out 
the  words. 

"  That  my  Charles  is  dead — I  know  it.  Did  I  not  tell  you 
so?"  said  Miss ,  interrupting  me,  with  as  clear  and  dis- 
tinct a  tone  of  voice  as  she  ever  had  in  her  life.  I  felt  confounded. 
Had  the  unexpected  operation  of  the  news  I  brought  been  able 
to  dissolve  the  spell  which  had  withered  her  mental  energies, 
and  afford  promise  of  her  restoration  to  health  ? 

Has  the  reader  ever  watched  a  candle,  which  is  ilickering  and 
expiring  in  its  socket,  suddenly  shoot  up  into  an  instantaneous 
brilliance,  and  then  be  utterly  extinguished  ?   I  soon  saw  it  was 

thus  with  poor  Miss  .     All  the  expiring  energies  of  her 

soul  were  suddenly  collected  to  receive  this  corroboration  of  her 
vision — if  such  it  may  be  called — and  then  she  would, 

Like  a  lily  drooping. 
Bow  her  head  and  die. 

To  return :  She  begged  me,  in  a  faltering  voice,  to  read  her 
all  the  letter.  She  listened  with  closed  eyes,  and  made  no 
remark  when  I  had  concluded.     After  a  long  pause,  I  exclaimed 

— "  God  be  praised,  my  dear  Miss ,  that  you  have  been  able 

to  receive  this  dreadful  news  so  firmly ! " 

"  Doctor,  tell  me,  have  you  no  medicine  that  could  make  me 
weep  ? — Oh,  give  it  me,  give  it  me  !  It  would  relieve  me,  for  I 
feel  a  mountain  on  my  breast — it  is  crushing  me,"  she  replied 
feebly,  uttering  the  words  at  long  intervals.  Pressing  her  hand 
in  mine,  I  begged  her  to  be  calm,  and  the  oppression  would  soon 
disappear.  "Oh — oh — oh,  that  I  could  weep,  doctor!"  She  whis- 
pered something  else,  but  inaudibly.  I  put  my  ear  close  to  her 
mouth,  and  distinguished  something  like  the  words — "  Jane ! —  1 
am — call  her — hush" — accompanied  with  a  faint,  fluttering,  gur- 
gling sound.  Alas !  I  too  well  understood  it !  With  much  trepi- 
dation I  ordered  the  nurse  to  summon  the  family  into  the  room 
instantly.  Her  sister  Jane  was  the  first  that  entered,  her  eyes 
swollen  with  weeping,  and  seemingly  half  sufibcated  with  the 
effort  to  conceal  her  emotions. 

"  Oh,  my  darling,  precious — my  own  sister  Anne ! "  she  sob- 


CONSUMPTION. CHAPTER  IX.  105 

bed,  and  knelt  down  at  the  bedside,  flinging  her  arms  round  her 
sister's  neck,  kissing  tlie  gentle  sufferer's  cheeks  and  mouth. 

"Anne! — -love!  —  darling!  —  don't  you  know  me?"  She 
groaned,  kissing  her  forehead  repeatedly.  Could  I  help  weep- 
ing ?  All  who  had  entered  were  standing  around  the  bed,  sob- 
bing, and  in  tears.  I  kept  my  fingers  at  the  wrist  of  the  dying 
sufferer  ;  but  could  not  feel  whether  or  not  the  pulse  beat,  whichj 
however,  I  attributed  to  my  own  agitation. 

"  Speak — speak — my  darling  Anne  ! — speak  to  me  ;  I  am  your 
poor  sister  Jane ! "  sobbed  the  agonized  girl,  conti  nuing  fondly 
kissing  her  sister's  cold  lips  and  forehead.  She  suddenly  started 
— exclaimed,  "  O  God!  nhe's  dead!"  and  sank  instantly  senseless 
on  the  floor.  Alas !  alas  !  it  was  too  true :  my  sweet  and  broken- 
hearted patient  was  no  more  ! 


CHAPTER  IX. 


CONSUMPTION 


Consumption  ! — Terrible,  insatiable  tyrant ! — ^who  can  arrest 
thy  progress,  or  number  thy  victims  ?  Why  dost  thou  attack  almost 
exclusively  the  fairest  and  loveliest  of  our  species  ?  Why  select 
blooming  and  beautiful  youth,  instead  of  haggard  and  exhausted 
age  ?  Why  strike  down  those  who  are  bounding  blithely  from  the 
starting-post  of  life,  rather  than  the  decrepit  beings  tottering 
towards  its  goal  ?  By  what  infernal  subtilty  hast  thou  contrived 
hitherto  to  baffle  the  profoundest  skill  of  science,  to  frustrate 
utterly  the  uses  of  experience,  and  disclose  thyself  only  when 
thou  hast  irretrievably  secured  thy  victim,  and  thy  fangs  are 
crimsoned  with  its  blood  ?  Destroying  angel !  why  art  thou  com- 
missioned thus  to  smite  down  the  first-born  of  agonized  human- 
ity ?  What  are  the  strange  purposes  of  Providence,  that  thus 
letteth  thee  loose  upon  the  objects  of  its  infinite  goodness  ! 

Alas  !  how  many  aching  hearts  have  been  agitated  with  these 
unanswerable  questions,  and  how  many  myriads  are  yet  to  be 


106  DIAKT  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

wrung  and  tortured  by  them ! — Let  me  proceed  to  lay  before  the 
reader  a  short  and  simple  statement  of  one  of  the  many  eases 
of  consumption,  and  all  its  attendant  broken-heartedness,  with 
which  a  tolerably  extensive  practice  has,  alas!  crowded  my 
memory.  The  one  immediately  following  has  been  selected, 
because  it  seemed  to  me,  though  destitute  of  varied  and  stirring 
incident,  calculated,  on  many  accounts,  to  excite  peculiar  inter- 
est and  sympathy.  Possibly  there  are  a  few  who  may  consider 
the  ensuing  pages  pervaded  by  a  tone  of  exaggeration.  Indeed, 
it  is  not  so.  My  heart  has  really  ached  under  the  task  of  record- 
ing the  bitter,  premature  fate  of  one  of  the  most  lovely  and 
accomplished  young  women  I  ever  knew  ;  and  the  vivid  recollec- 
tion of  her  sufl'erings,  as  well  as  those  of  her  anguished  relatives, 
may  have  led  me  to  adopt  strong  language — but  not  strong 
enough  adequately  to  express  my  feelings. 

Miss  Herbert  lost  both  her  father  and  mother  before  she  had 
attained  her  tenth  year  ;  and  was  solemnly  committed  by  each 
to  the  care  of  her  uncle,  a  baronet,  who  was  unmarried,  and, 
through  disappointment  in  a  first  attachment,  seemed  likely  to 
continue  so  to  the  end  of  his  life.  Two  years  after  his  brother's 
death,  he  was  appointed  to  an  eminent  oflBcial  situation  in  India, 
as  the  fortune  attached  to  his  baronetcy  had  suifered  severely  from 
the  extravagance  of  his  predecessors.  He  was  for  some  time  at  a 
loss  how  to  dispose  of  his  little  niece.  Should  he  take  her  with 
him  to  India,  accompanied  by  a  first-rate  governess,  and  have  her 
carefully  educated  under  his  own  eye,  or  leave  her  behind  in 
England,  at  one  of  the  fashionable  boarding-schools,  and  trust 
to  the  general  surveillance  of  a  distant  female  relative?  He 
decided  on  the  former  course;  and  accordingly,  very  shortly 
after  completing  her  twelfth  year,  this  little  blooming  exotic  was 
transplanted  to  the  scorching  soil,  and  destined  "  to  waste  its 
sweetness  "  on  the  sultry  air  of  India. 

A  more  delicate  and  lovely  little  creature  than  was  Eliza 
Herbert,  at  this  period,  cannot  be  conceived.  She  was  the  only 
bud  from  a  parent  stem  of  remarkable  beauty  ;  but,  alas !  that 
stem  was  suddenly  withered  by  consumption.  Her  father,  also, 
fell  a  victim  to  the  fierce  typhus  fever,  only  half  a  year  after  the 
death  of  his  wife.    Little  Eliza  Herbert  inherited,  with  her 


CONSUMPTION. — CHAPTEE  IX.  107 

mother's  beauty,  her  constitutional  delicacy.  Her  figure  was  so 
slight,  that  it  almost  suggested  to  the  beholder  the  idea  of  trans- 
parency ;  and  there  was  a  softness  and  languor  in  her  azure 
eyes,  beaming  through  their  long  silken  lashes,  which  told  of 
something  too  reSned  for  humanity.  Her  disposition  fully  com- 
ported with  her  person  and  habits — arch,  mild,  and  intelligent, 
with  a  little  dash  of  pensiveness.  She  loved  the  shade  of  retire- 
ment. If  she  occasionally  flitted  for  a  moment  into  the  world, 
its  glare  and  uproar  seemed  almost  to  stun  her  gentle  spirit,  and 
fright  it  back  into  congenial  privacy.  She  was,  almost  from 
infancy,  devotedly  fond  of  reading ;  and  sought,  with  peculiar 
avidity,  books  of  sentiment.  Her  gifted  preceptress — one  of  the 
most  amiable  and  refined  of  women — soon  won  her  entire  confi- 
dence, and  found  little  difficulty  in  imparting  to  her  apt  pupil  all 
the  stores  of  her  own  superior  and  extensive  accomplishments. 
Not  a  day  passed  over  her  head,  that  did  not  find  Eliza  Herbert 
riveted  more  firmly  in  the  hearts  of  all  who  came  near  her,  from 
her  doting  uncle  down  to  the  most  distant  domestic.  Every 
luxury  that  wealth  and  power  could  procure,  was  of  course 
always  at  her  command ;  but  her  own  innate  propriety  and  just 
taste  prompted  her  to  prefer  simplicity  in  aU  things.  Flattery  of 
all  kinds  she  abhorred — and  forsook  the  house  of  a  rich  old 
English  lady,  who  once  told  her  to  her  face  she  was  a  beautiful 
little  angel !  In  short,  a  more  lovely  and  amiable  being  than 
Eliza  Herbert,  surely  never  adorned  the  ranks  of  humanity.  The 
only  fear  which  incessantly  haunted  those  around  her,  and  kept 

Sir in  a  feverish  flutter  of  apprehension  every  day  of  his 

life,  was,  that  his  niece  was,  in  his  own  words,  "  too  good — too 
beautiful,  for  this  world ; "  and  that  unseen  messengers  from 
above  were  already  flitting  around  her,  ready  to  claim  her  sud- 
denly for  the  skies.  He  has  often  described  to  me  his  feelings 
on  this  subject.  He  seemed  conscious  that  he  had  no  right  to 
reckon  on  the  continuance  of  her  Ufe ;  he  felt,  whenever  he 
thought  of  her,  an  involuntary  apprehension  that  she  would,  at 
no  distant  period,  suddenly  fade  from  his  sight ;  he  was  afraid, 
he  said,  to  let  out  the  whole  of  his  heart's  affections  on  her.  Like 
the  Oriental  merchant,  who  trembles  while  freighting  "  one 
bark — one  little  fragile  bark,"  with  the  dazzling  stores  of  his 


108  PIAKY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

immense  all,  and  committing  it  to  the  capricious  dominion  of 

wind  and  waves  ;  so  Sir often  declared,  that  at  the  period 

I  am  alluding  to,  he  experienced  cruel  misgivings,  that  if  he 
embarked  the  whole  of  his  soul's  loves  on  little  Eliza  Herbert, 
they  were  fated  to  be  shipwrecked.  Yet  he  regarded  her  every- 
day with  feelings  which  soon  heightened  into  absolute  idolatry! 

His  fond  anxieties  soon  suggested  to  him,  that  so  delicate 
and  fragile  a  being  as  his  niece,  supposing  for  a  moment  the 
existence  of  any  real  grounds  of  apprehension  that  her  consti- 
tution bore  a  hereditary  taint,  could  not  be  thrown  into  a  more 
direct  path  for  her  grave  than  in  India;  that  any  latent  ten- 
dency to  consumption  would  be  quickened  and  developed  with 
fatal  rapidity  in  the  burning  atmosphere  she  was  then  breath- 
ing. His  mind,  once  thoroughly  suffused  with  alarms  of  this 
sort,  could  not  ever  afterwards  be  dispossessed  of  them  ;  and  he 
accordingly  determined  to  relinquish  his  situation  in  India,  the 
instant  he  should  have  realized,  from  one  quarter  or  another, 
SuflBcient  to  enable  him  to  return  to  England,  and  support  an 
establishment  suitable  to  his  station  in  society.  About  five 
years  had  elapsed  since  his  arrival  in  India,  during  which  he 
had  oontrived  to  save  a  large  portion  of  his  very  ample  income, 
when  news  reached  him  that  a  considerable  fortune  had  fallen 
to  him,  through  the  death  of  a  remote  relative.  The  intelligence 
made  him,  comparatively,  a  happy  man.  He  instantly  set  on 
foot  arrangements  for  returning  to  England,  and  procuring  the 
immediate  appointment  of  his  successor. 

Unknown  to  his  niece,  about  a  year  after  his  arrival  in  India, 

Sir had  confidentially  consulted  the  most  eminent  physician 

on  the  spot.  In  obedience  to  the  injunctions  of  the  baronet,  Dr 
C was  in  the  habit  of  dropping  in  frequently,  as  if  acciden- 
tally, to  dinner,  for  the  purpose  of  marking  Miss  Herbert's 
demeanour,  and  ascertaining  whether  there  was,  so  to  speak,  the 
very  faintest  adumbration  of  any  consumptive  tendency.  But 
no — his  quick  and  practised  eye  detected  no  morbid  indications ; 
and  he  repeatedly  gladdened  the  baronet's  heart,  by  assuring 
him  that,  for  any  present  evidence  to  the  contrary,  little  Miss 
Herbert  bade  as  fair  for  long  and  healthy  life  as  any  woman 
breathing,  especially  if  she  soon  returned  to  the  more  salubrious 


CONSUMPTION. CHAPTER  IX.  103 

climate  of  England.  Though  Dr  C had  never  spoken  pro- 
fessionally to  her,  Eliza  Herbert  was  too  quick  and  shrewd  an 
observer  to  continue  unapprized  of  the  object  of  his  frequent 
visits  to  her  uncle's  house.  She  had  not  failed  to  notice  his 
searching  glances  ;  and  knew  well  that  he  watched  almost  every 
mouthful  of  food  she  ate,  and  scrutinized  all  her  movements. 
He  had  once  also  ventured  to  feel  her  pulse,  in  a  half- in-earnest 
half-in-joke  manner,  and  put  one  or  two  questions  to  the  governess 
about  Miss  Herbert's  general  habits,  which  that  good,  easy,  com- 
municative creature  unfortunatel}'  told  her  inquisitive  little  pupil ! 
Now,  there  are  few  things  more  alarming  and  irritating  to 
young  people,  even  if  consciously  enjoying  the  most  robust 
health,  than  suddenly  to  find  that  they  have  long  been,  and  still 
are,  the  objects  of  anxious  medical  surveillance.  They  begin 
naturally  to  suspect  that  there  must  be  very  good  reason  for  it 
— and  especially  in  the  case  of  nervous,  irritable  temperaments ; 
their  peace  of  mind  is  thenceforward  destroyed  by  torturing 
apprehensions  that  they  are  the  doomed  victims  of  some  insi- 
dious, incurable  malady.     Of  this  I  have  known  very  many 

illustrations.     Sir ,  also,  was  aware  of  its  ill  consequences, 

and  endeavoured  to  avert  even  the  shadow  of  a  suspicion  from 

his  niece's  mind  as  to  the  real  object  of  Dr  C 's  visits,  by 

formally  introducing  him,  from  the  first,  as  one  of  his  own  intimate 
friends.  He  therefore  flattered  himself  that  his  niece  was  pro- 
foundly ignorant  of  the  existence  of  his  anxieties  concerning  her 
health  ;  and  was  not  a  little  startled  one  morning  by  Miss  Her- 
bert's abruptly  entering  his  study,  and,  pale  with  ill-disguised 
anxiety,  enquiring  if  there  was  "  any  thing  the  matter  with  her  ?  " 
Was  she  unconsciously yaZ^mg'  into  a  decline?  she  asked,  almost 
in  so  many  words.  Her  uncle  was  so  confounded  by  the  sud- 
denness of  the  affair,  that  he  lost  his  presence  of  mind,  changed 
colour  a  little,  and  with  a  consciously  embarrassed  air,  assured 
her  that  it  was  "no  such  thing,"  quite  a  mistake — a  "very 
ridiculous  one " — a  "  childish  whim,"  &c.  &c.  &c.  He  was  so 
very  earnest  and  energetic  in  his  assurances  that  there  was  no 
earthly  ground  for  apprehension,  and,  in  short,  concealed  his 
alarm  so  clumsily,  that  his  poor  niece,  though  she  left  him  with 
a  kiss  and  a  smile,  and  affected  to  be  satisfied,  retired  to  her  own 


ilO  1>IART   01'  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

room,  and  from  that  melancholy  moment  resigned  herself  to  her 
grave.  Of  this,  she  herself,  three  years  subsequently,  in  Eng- 
land, assured  me.  She  never  afterwards  recovered  that  gentle 
buoyancy  and  elasticity  of  spirits  which  made  her  burst  upon" 
her  few  friends  and  acquaintance  like  a  little  lively  sunbeam  of 
cheerfulness  and  gayety.  She  felt  perpetually  haunted  by  gloomy 
though  vague  suspicions,  that  there  was  something  radically  wrong 
in  her  constitution — that  it  was  from  her  birth  sown  with  the 
seeds  of  death — and  that  no  earthly  power  could  eradicate  them. 
Though  she  resigned  herself  to  the  dominion  of  such  harassing 
thoughts  as  these  while  alone,  and  even  shed  tears  abundantly, 
she  succeeded  in  banishing,  to  a  great  extent,  her  uncle's  dis- 
quietude, by  assuming  even  greater  gayety  of  demeanour  than 
before.  The  baronet  took  occasion  to  mention  the  little  incident 

above  related  to  Dr  C ;  and  was  excessively  agitated  to  see 

the  physician  assume  a  very  serious  air. 

"  This  may  be  attended  with  more  mischief  than  you  are 

aware  of,  Sir ,"  he  replied.     "  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  teU  you 

how  miserably  unfortunate  for  her  it  is,  that  Miss  Herbert  has 
at  last  detected  your  restless  uneasiness  about  her  health,  and 
the  means  you  have  taken  to  watch  her  constitution.  Hence- 
forward she  may  appear  satisfied — but  mark  me  if  she  can  ever 
forget  it.  You  will  find  her  fall  frequently  into  momentary  fits 
of  absence  and  thoughtfulness.  She  will  brood  over  it, "  con- 
tinued Dr  C . 

"  Why,  good  God  !  doctor,"  replied  the  baronet,  "  what's  the 
use  of  frightening  one  thus  ?  Do  you  think  my  niece  is  the  first 
girl  who  has  known  that  her  friends  are  anxious  about  her 
health  ?  If  she  is  really,  as  you  tell  her,  free  from  disease — why 
in  the  name  of  common  sense,  can  she  fancy  herself  into  a  con- 
sumption ?  " 

"  No,  no,  Sir ;  but  incessant  alarm  may  accelerate  the 

evil  you  dread,  and  predispose  her  to  sink — her  energies  to  droop 
— under  the  blow,  however  lightly  it  may  at  first  fall,  which  has 

been  so  long  impending.     And,  besides,  Sir ,  I  did  not  say 

she  was  free  from  disease,  but  only  that  I  had  not  discerned  any 
present  symptoms  of  disease." 

"  Oh,  stuff,  stuff,  doctor !  nonsense ! "  muttered  the  barouet 


CONSUMPTION . CHAPTER  IX .  Ill 

rising  and  pacing  the  room  with  excessive  agitation.  "  Can't 
the  girl  be  lavghed  out  of  her  fears  ?  " 

It  may  be  easily  believed  that  Sir spent  every  future 

moment  of  his  stay  in  India  in  an  agony  of  apprehension.  His 
fears  exaggerated  the  slightest  indication  of  his  niece's  temporary 
indisposition  into  a  symptom  of  consumption.  Any  thing  like 
a  cough  from  her  would  send  him  to  a  pillow  of  thorns ;  and 
her  occasional  refusal  of  food  at  meal-times  was  received  with 
undisguised  trepidation  on  the  part  of  her  uncle.  If  he  over- 
took her  at  a  distance,  walking  out  with  her  governess,  he 
would  follow  unperceived,  and  strain  his  eyesight  with  endea- 
vouring to  detect  any  thing  like  feebleness  in  her  gait.  These 
incessant,  and  very  natural  anxieties  about  the  only  being  he 
loved  in  the  world,  enhanced  by  his  efforts  to  conceal  them,  sen- 
sibly impaired  hfe  own  health  and  spirits.  He  grew  fretful  and 
irritable  in  his  demeanour  towards  every  member  of  his  estab- 
lishment, and  could  not  completely  fix  his  thoughts  for  the 
transaction  of  his  important  official  business. 

This  may  be  thought  an  overstrained  representation  of  Sir 

's  state  of  mind  respecting  his  niece ;  but  by  none  except 

a  young,  thoughtless,  or  heartless  reader.  Let  the  thousand — 
the  million — ^heart-wrung  parents,  who  have  mourned,  and  are 
now  mourning,  over  their  consumptive  offspring — let  them,  I  say, 
echo  the  truth  of  the  sentiments  I  am  expressing.  Let  those 
whose  bitter  fate  it  is  to  see 

The  bark,  so  richly  freighted  irith  their  love, 

gradually  sinking,  shipwrecked  before  their  very  eyes — let  them 
say,  whether  the  pen  or  tongue  of  man  can  furnish  adequate 
words  to  give  expression  to  their  anguished  feelings  ! 

Eighteen  years  of  age — within  a  trifle — was  Miss  Herbert, 
when  she  again  set  foot  on  her  native  land,  and  the  eyes  and 
heart  of  her  idolizing  uncle  leaped  for  joy  to  see  her  augmented 
health  and  loveliness,  which  he  fondly  flattered  himself  might 
now  be  destined  to 

Grow  with  her  growth,  and  strengthen  with  her  strength. 


112  DIART  OP  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN 

The  voyage — though  long  and  monotonous  as  usual — with  its 
fresh  breezy  balminess,  had  given  an  impetus  to  her  animal  spirits ; 
and  as  her  slight  figure  stepped  down  the  side  of  the  gloomy 
colossal  Indiaman  which  had  brought  her  across  the  seas,  her  blue 
eye  was  bright  as  that  of  a  seraph,  her  beauteous  cheeks  glowed 
with  a  soft  and  ricli  crimson,  and  there  was  a  lightness,  ease,  and 
elasticity  in  her  movements,  as  she  tripped  the  short  distance 
between  the  vessel  and  the  carriage  which  was  in  waiting  to 
convey  them  to  town,  that  filled  her  doating  uncle  with  feelings 
of  almost  frenzied  joy. 

"  God  Almighty  bless  thee,  my  darling  ! — Bless  thee — ^bless 
thee  for  ever,  my  pride !  my  jewel ! — Long  and  happy  be  thy 
life  in  merry  England  ! "  sobbed  the  baronet,  folding  her  almost 
convulsively  in  his  arms,  as  suon  as  they  were  seated  in  the 
carriage,  and  giving  her  the  first  kiss  of  welcome  to  her  native 
shores.  The  second  day  after  they  were  established  at  one  of 
the  hotels,  while  Miss  Herbert  and  her  governess  were  riding  the 

round  of  fashionable  shopping,  Sir drove  alone  to  the  late 

Dr  Baillie.  In  a  long  interview  (they  were  personal  friends), 
he  communicated  all  his  distressing  apprehensions  about  his 
niece's  state  of  health,  imploring  him  to  say  whether  he  had  any 
real  cause  of  alarm  whatever — immediate  or  prospective — and 
what  course  and  plan  of  life  he  would  recommend  for  the  future. 
Dr  Baillie,  after  many  and  minute  enquiries,  contented  himself 
with  saying  that  he  saw  no  grounds  for  present  apprehensions. 
"  It  certainly  did  sometimes  happen,"  he  said,  that  a  delicate 
daughter  of  a  consumptive  parent  inherited  her  mother's  ten- 
dencies to  disease. — As  for  her  future  life  and  habits,  there  was 
not  the  slightest  occasion  for  medicine  of  any  kind ;  she  must 
live  almost  entirely  in  the  country,  take  plenty  of  fresh  dry  air  and 
exercise — especially  eschew  late  hours  and  company  ; "  and  he 
hinted,  finally,  the  advantages,  and  almost  necessity,  of  an  early 
matrimonial  engagement. 

It  need  hardly  be  said,  that  Sir resolved  most  religiously 

to  follow  this  advice  to  the  letter. 

"  I'll  come  and  dine  with  you  in  Dover  Street,  at  seven 
to-day,"  said  Dr  Baillie,  "  and  make  my  own  observations." 

"  Thank  you,  doctor — but — but  we  dine  out  to-day,"  muttered 


CONSUMPTION. CHAPTER  IX.  113 

the  baronet  rather  faintly,  adding  inwardly,  "  No,  no  ! — no  more 
medical  espionage — no,  no  !  " 

Sir purchased  a  very  beautiful  mansion,  which  then  hap- 
pened to  be  for  sale,  situated  within  ten  or  twelve  miles  of 
London  ;  and  thither  he  removed,  as  soon  as  ever  the  preliminary 
arrangements  could  be  completed. 

The   shrine,   and  its  divinity,  were  worthy  of  each  other. 

Hall  was  one  of  the  most  charming  picturesque  residences 

in  the  county.  It  was  a  fine  antique  semi-Gothic  structure, 
almost  obscured  from  sight  in  the  profound  gloom  of  forest 
shade.  The  delicious  velvet  greensward,  spread  immediately  in 
front  of  the  house,  seemed  foi-med  for  the  gentle  footsteps  of  Miss 
Herbert.  When  you  went  there,  if  you  looked  carefully  about, 
you  might  discover  a  little  white  tuft  glistening  on  some  part  or 
otherof  the  "smooth  soft-shaven  lawn ;"  it  washer  pet  lamb — sweet 
emblem  of  its  owner's  innocence ! — cropping  the  crisp  and  rich 
herbage.  Little  thing !  it  would  scarcely  submit  to  be  fondled 
by  any  hand  but  that  of  its  indulgent  mistress.  She,  also,  might 
occasionally  be  seen  there,  wandering  thoughtfully  along,  with  a 
book  in  her  hand — Tasso,  probably,  or  Dante — and  her  loose 
light  hair  straying  from  beneath  a  gipsy  bonnet,  commingling 
in  pleasant  contrast  with  a  saffron-coloured  riband.  Her  uncle 
would  sit  for  an  hour  together,  at  a  corner  of  his  study  window, 
overlooking  the  lawn,  and  never  remove  his  eyes  from  the  figure 
of  his  fair  niece. 

Miss  Herbert  was  soon  talked  of  every  where  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, as  the  pride  of  the  place — the  star  of  the  county.  She 
budded  forth  almost  visibly;  and  though  her  exquisite  form  was 
developing  daily,  till  her  matured  womanly  proportions  seemed 
to  have  been  cast  in  the  mould  of  the  Venus  de  Medici,  though 
on  a  scale  of  more  slenderness  and  delicacy,  it  was,  nevertheless, 
outstripped  by  the  precocious  expanding  of  her  intellect.  The 
sympathies  of  her  soul  were  attuned  to  the  deepest  and  most 
refined  sentiment.  She  was  passionately  fond  of  poetry;  and 
never  wandered  without  the  sphere  of  what  was  first-rate. 
Dante  and  Milton  were  her  constant  companions  by  day  and 
night;  and  it  was  a  treat  to  hear  the  mellifluous  cadences  of  the 
termer  uttered  by  the  soft  and  rich  voice  of  Miss  Herbert.    She 

1  H 


114  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

could  not  more  satisfactorily  evidence  her  profound  appreciation 
of  the  true  spirit  of  poetry,  than  by  her  almost  idolatrous  admi- 
ration of  the  kindred  genius  of  Handel  and  Mozart.  She  was 
scarcely  ever  known  to  play  any  other  music  than  theirs;  she 
would  listen  to  none  but  the  "mighty  voices  of  those  dim  spirits." 
And  then  she  was  the  most  amiable  and  charitable  creature, 
that  sure  ever  trode  the  earth !  How  many  colds — slight,  to  be 
sure,  and  evanescent — had  she  caught,  and  how  many  rebukes 
from  the  alarmed  fondness  of  her  uncle  had  she  suffered  in  con- 
sequence, through  her  frequent  visits,  in  all  weathers,  to  the 
cottages  of  the  poor  and  sick! — "You  are  describing  an  ideal 
being,  and  investing  it  with  all  the  graces  and  virtues — one  that 
never  reaUy  existed ! "  perhaps  exclaims  one  of  my  readers. 
There  are  not  a  few  now  living,  who  could  answer  for  the  truth 
of  my  poor  and  faint  description,  with  anguish  and  regret. 
Frequently,  on  seeing  such  instances  of  precocious  develope- 
ment  of  the  powers  of  both  mind  and  body,  the  curt  and  for- 
cible expression  of  Quintilian  has  occurred  to  my  mind  with 
painful  force — "  Quod  observatum  fere  est,  celerius  occidere 
festinatam  maturitatem"  *  aptly  rendered  by  the  English  proverb, 
"  Soon  ripe,  soon  rotten." 

The  latter  part  of  Dr  Baillie's  advice  was  anxiously  kept  in 

view  by  Sir ;  and  soon  after  Miss  Herbert  had  completed 

her   twentieth  year,   he  had   the   satisfaction   of   seeing  her 

encourage  the  attentions  of  a  Captain ,  the  third  son  of  a 

neighbouring  nobleman.  He  was  a  remarkably  fine  and  hand- 
some young  man,  of  a  very  superior  spirit,  and  fully  capable  of 

appreciating  the  value  of  her  whose  hand  he  sought.     Sir 

was  delighted,  almost  to  ecstasy,  when  he  extracted  from  the 
trembling,  blushing  girl,  a  confession  that  Captain 's  com- 
pany was  any  thing  but  disagreeable  to  her.  The  young  mili- 
tary hero  was,  of  course,  soon  recognised  as  her  suitor ;  and  a 
handsome  couple,  people  said,  they  would  make.  Miss  Herbert's 
health  seemed  more  robust,  and  her  spirits  more  buoyant,  than 
ever.  How,  indeed,  could  it  be  otherwise,  when  she  was  daUy 
riding  in  an  open  carriage,  or  on  horseback,  over  a  fine  breezy, 

*  D9.In3t.  Orat.  lib.  iv.   In  proSmio, 


CONSUMPTION. CHAPTER  IX.  115 

cliampaign  country,  by  the  side  of  the  gay,  handsome,  fascina- 
ting Captain ? 

The  baronet  was  sitting  one  morning  in  his  study,  having  the 
day  before  returned  from  a  month's  visit  to  some  friends  in  Ire- 
land, and  engaged  with  some  important  letters  from  India,  when 

Miss  B ,  his  niece's  governess,  sent  a  message,  requesting  to 

speak  in  private  with  him.  When  she  entered,  her  embarrassed, 
and  somewhat  flurried  manner,  not  a  little  surprised  Sir . 

"  How  is  Eliza  ?— How  is  Eliza,  Miss  B— — -  ?  "  he  enquired 
hastily,  laying  aside  his  reading-glasses.  "  Very  well,"  she 
replied — "  very  ; "  and,  after  a  little  fencing  about  the  necessity 
of  making  allowance  for  tlie  exaggeration  of  alarm  and  anxiety, 
she  proceeded  to  inform  him  that  Miss  Herbert  had  latterly 
passed  restless  nights — that  her  sleep  was  not  unfrequently 
broken  by  a  cough — a  sort  of  faint  churchyard  cough,  she  said, 
it  seemed — which  had  not  been  noticed  for  some  time,  till  it  was 
accompanied  by  other  symptoms.—"  Gracious  God !  madam, 
how  was  this  not  told  me  before  ? — Why — ^why  did  you  not 
write  to  me  in  Ireland  about  it  ?  "  enquired  Sir ,  with  exces- 
sive trepidation.     He  could  scarcely  sit  in  his  chair,  and  grew 

very  pale ;  while  Miss  B ,  herself  equally  agitated,  went  on 

to  mention  profuse  night-sweats — a  disinclination  for  food — 
exhaustion  from  tlie  slightest  exercise — a  feverishness  every 
evening — and  a  faint  hectic  flush 

"  Oh,  plague-spot !  "  groaned  the  baronet,  almost  choked,  let- 
ting fall  his  reading-glasses.  He  tottered  towards  the  bell,  and 
the  valet  was  directed  to  order  the  carriage  for  town  immediately. 
"  What — what  possible  excuse  can  I  devise  for  bringing  Dr 
BaiUie  here  ? "  said  he  to  the  governess,  as  he  was  drawing  on 
his  gloves.  "  Well — well — I'll  leave  it  to  you — do  what  you  can. 
For  God's  sake,  madam,  prepare  her  to  see  him  somehow  or 
another,  for  the  doctor  and  I  shall  certainly  be  here  together 
this  evening — Oh !  say  I'm  called  up  to  town  on  sudden  busi- 
ness, and  thought  I  might  as  well  bring  him  on  with  me,  as  he 
is  visiting  a  patient  in  the  neighbourhood — Oh !  any  t'ning, 
madam — any  thing  ! "     He  hardly  knew  what  he  was  saying. 

Dr  Baillie,  however,  could  not  come,  being  himself  at  Brigh- 
ton, an  invalid,  and  the  baronet  was  therefore  pleased,  though 


116  DIAKY  or  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

with  ill-disguised  chagrin,  to  summon  me  to  supply  his  place. 
On  my  way  down,  he  put  me  in  possession  of  most  of  the  facts 
above  narrated.  He  implored  me,  in  tenderness  to  his  agitated 
feelings,  to  summon  all  the  tact  I  had  ever  acquired,  and  alarm 
the  object  of  my  visit  as  little  as  possible.  I  was  especially  to 
guard  against  appearing  to  know  too  much  ;  I  was  to  beat  about 
the  bush — to  extract  her  symptoms  gradually,  &c.  I  never  saw 
the  fondest,  the  most  doating  father  or  mother  more  agitated 

about  an  only  child,  than  was  Sir  about  his  niece.     He 

protested  that  he  could  not  survive  her  death — that  she  was  the 
only  prop  and  pride  of  his  declining  years — and  that  he  must 
fall  if  he  lost  her ;  and  made  use  of  many  similar  expressions. 
It  was  in  vain  that  I  sought  him  not  to  allow  himself  to  be  car- 
ried so  much  away  by  his  fears.  He  must  let  me  see  her,  and 
have  an  opportunity  of  judging  whether  there  were  any  real 
cause  of  alarm,  I  said ;  and  he  might  rely  on  my  honour  as  a 
gentleman,  that  I  would  be  frank  and  candid  with  him,  to  the 
very  utmost — I  would  tell  him  the  worst.  I  reminded  him  of 
the  possibility  that  the  symptoms  he  mentioned  might  not  really 

exist ;  that  they  might  have  been  seen  by  Miss  B through 

the  distorting  and  magnifying  medium  of  apprehension ;  and 
that,  even  if  they  did  really  exist — why,  that — that — they  were 
not  always  the  precursors  of  consumption,  I  stammered,  against 
my  own  convictions.  It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  emotions 
excited  in  the  baronet,  by  my  simply  uttering  the  word  "  con- 
sumption."    He  said  it  stabbed  him  to  the  heart ! 

On  arriving  at Hall,  the  baronet  and  I  instantly  repaired 

to  the  drawing-room,  where  Miss  Herbert  and  her  governess  were 
sitting  at  tea.  The  sad  sunlight  of  September  shone  through 
the  Gothic  window  near  which  they  were  sitting.  Miss  Herbert 
was  dressed  in  white,  and  looked  really  dazzlingly  beautiful ;  but 
the  first  transient  glance  warned  me  that  the  worst  might  be 
apprehended.  I  had  that  very  morning  been  at  the  bedside  of 
a  dying  young  lady,  a  martyr  to  that  very  disease,  which  com- 
mences by  investing  its  victim  with  a  tenfold  splendour  of 
personal  beauty,  to  be  compensated  for  by  sudden  and  rapid 
decay !  Miss  Herbert's  eyes  were  lustrous  as  diamonds  ;  and  the 
complexion  of  her  cheeks,  pure  and  fair  as  that  of  the  lily,  was 


CONSUMPTION. — CHAPTER  IX.  117 

surmounted  with  an  intense  circumscribed  crimson  flush — alas, 
alas  !  the  very  plague-spot  of  hectic — of  consumption.  She 
saluted  me  silently,  and  her  eyes  glanced  hurriedly  from  me  to 
her  uncle,  and  from  him  again  to  me.  His  disordered  air 
defied  disguise. 

She  was  evidently  apprised  of  my  coming,  as  well  as  of  the 
occasion  of  my  visit.  Indeed  there  was  a  visible  embarrassment 
about  all  four  of  us,  which  I  felt  I  was  expected  to  dissipate,  by 
introducing  indifferent  topics  of  conversation.  This  I  attempted, 
but  with  little  success.  Miss  Herbert's  tea  was  before  her  on  a 
little  ebony  stand,  untouched;  and  it  was  evidently  a  violent 
effort  only  that  enabled  her  to  continue  in  the  room.     She  looked 

repeatedly  at  Miss  B ,  as  though  she  wished  to  be  gone. 

After  about  half  an  hour's  time,  I  alluded  complimentarily  to 
what  I  had  heard  of  her  performance  on  the  piano.  She  smiled 
coldly,  and  rather  contemptuously,  as  though  she  saw  the  part 
I  was  playing.  Nothing  daunted,  however,  I  begged  her  to 
favour  me  with  one  of  Haydn's  sonatas;  and  she  went  immedi- 
ately to  the  piano,  and  played  what  I  asked — I  need  hardly 
say,  exquisitely.  Her  uncle  then  withdrew  for  the  alleged  pur- 
pose of  answering  a  letter,  as  had  been  arranged  between  us ; 
and  I  was  left  alone  with  the  two  ladies.  I  need  not  fatigue 
the  reader  with  a  minute  description  of  all  that  passed.  I  intro- 
duced the  object  of  my  visit  as  casually  and  as  gently  as  I  could, 
and  succeeded  more  easily  than  I  had  anticipated  in  quieting 
her  alarms.  The  answers  she  gave  to  my  questions  amply  cor- 
roborated the  truth  of  the  account  given  by  Miss  B to  the 

baronet.  Her  feverish  accelerated  pulse,  also,  told  of  the  hot 
blighting  breathings  of  the  destroying  angel,  who  was  already 
hovering  close  around  his  victim!  I  was  compelled  to  smile, 
with  an  assumed  air  of  gayety  and  nonchalance,  while  listening 
to  the  poor  girl's  unconscious  disclosures  of  various  little  mat- 
ters, which  amounted  to  infallible  evidence  that  she  was  already 
beyond  the  reach  of  medicine.  I  bade  her  adieu,  complimenting 
her  on  her  charming  looks,  and  expressing  my  delight  at  find- 
ing so  little  occasion  for  my  professional  services !  She  looked 
at  me  with  a  half-incredulous,  half-confiding  eye,  and  with 
much  girlish  simplicity  and  frankness,  put  her  hand  into  mine. 


118  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

thanking  me  for  dispersing  her  fears,  and  begging  me  to  do  the 
same  for  her  uncle.  I  afterwards  learned  that,  as  soon  as  I  left 
the  room,  she  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears,  and  sighed  and  sobbed 
all  the  rest  of  the  evening. 

With  Sir I  felt  it  my  duty  to  be  candid.     Why  should 

I  conceal  the  worst  from  him,  when  I  felt  as  certain  as  I  was  of 
my  own  existence,  that  his  beautiful  niece  was  already  begin- 
ning to  witlier  away  from  before  his  eyes?  Convinced  that 
"  hope  deferred  maketh  sick  the  heart,"  I  have  always,  in  such 
eases,  warned  the  patient's  friends,  long  beforehand,  of  the  in- 
evitable fate  awaiting  the  object  of  their  anxious  hopes  and  fears, 
in  order  that  resignation  might  gradually  steal  thoroughly  into 
their  broken  hearts.  To  return :  I  was  conducted  to  the  baronet's 
study,  where  he  was  standing  with  his  hat  and  gloves  on,  ready 
to  accompany  me  as  far  as  the  high-road,  in  order  that  I  might 
await  the  arrival  of  a  London  coach.  I  told  him,  in  short,  that 
I  feared  I  had  seen  and  heard  too  much  to  allow  a  doubt  that 
his  niece's  present  symptoms  were  those  of  the  commencing 
stage  of  pulmonary  consumption;  and  that,  though  medicine 
and  change  of  climate  might  possibly  avert  the  evil  day  for  a 
time,  it  was  my  melancholy  duty  to  assure  him,  that  no  earthly 
power  could  save  her. 

"  Merciful  God !  "  he  gasped,  loosing  his  arm  from  mine,  and 
leaning  against  the  park  gate,  at  which  we  had  arrived.  I  im- 
plored him  to  be  calm.  He  continued  speechless  for  some  time, 
with  his  hands  clasped. 

"  Oh,  doctor,  doctor!"  he  exclaimed,  as  if  a  gleam  of  hope 
had  suddenly  flashed  across  his  mind,  "  we've  forgot  to  tell  you 
a  most  material  thing,  which,  perhaps,  will  alter  the  whole  case 
— oh!  how  could  we  have  forgotten  it?"  he  continued,  growing 
heated  with  the  thought ;  "  my  niece  eats  very  heartily — nay, 
more  heartily  than  any  of  us,  and  seems  to  relish  her  food  more." 
Alas !  I  was  obliged,  as  I  have  hundreds  of  times  before  been 
obliged,  to  dash  the  cup  from  his  lips,  by  assuring  him  that  an 
almost  ravenous  appetite  was  as  invariably  a  forerunner  of  con- 
sumption as  the  pilot-fish  of  the  shark! 

"  O,  great  God !  what  will  become  of  me?  What  shall  I  do?" 
he  exclaimed,  almost  frantic,  and  wringing  his  hands  in  despair. 


CONSITMPTION. — CHAPTER  IX.  119 

He  had  lost  every  vestige  of  self-control.  "  Then  my  sweet 
angel  must  DIE !  Damning  thought!  Oh,  let  me  die  too !  I  can- 
not—  I  will  not — survive  her! — Doctor,  doctor,  you  must  give  up 
your  London  practice,  and  come  and  live  in  my  house — you 
must !  Oh  come,  come,  and  I'll  fling  my  whole  fortune  at  your 
feet !  Only  save  her,  and  you  and  yours  shall  roll  in  wealth,  if 
I  go  back  to  India  to  procure  it! — Oh!  whither — whither  shall 
I  go  with  my  darling?  To  Italy— to  France ?  My  God!  what 
shall  I  do  when  she  is  gone — for  ever!  "  he  exclaimed,  like  one 
distracted.  I  entreated  him  to  recollect  himself,  and  endeavour 
to  regain  his  self-possession  before  returning  to  the  presence  of 
his  niece.  He  started.  "  Oh,  mockery,  doctor,  mockery!  How 
can  I  ever  look  on  the  dear — the  doomed  girl  again  ?  She  is  no 
longer  mine;  she  is  in  her  grave — she  is!" 

Remonstrance  and  expostulation,  I  saw,  were  utterly  useless, 
and  worse,  for  they  served  only  to  irritate.     The  coaeli  shortly 

afterwards  drew  up  ;  and,  wringing  my  hands.  Sir extorted 

a  promise  that  I  would  see  his  niece  the  next  day,  and  bring  D.r 
Baillie  with  me,  if  he  should  have  returned  to  town.  I  was  as 
good  as  my  word,  except  that  Dr  Baillie  could  not  accompany 
me,  being  still  at  Brighton.  My  second  interview  with  Miss 
Herbert  was  long  and  painfully  interesting.  We  were  alone.  She 
wept  bitterly,  and  recounted  the  incident  mentioned  above,  which 
occurred  in  India,  and  occasioned  her  first  serious  alarm.  She 
felt  convinced,  she  told  me,  that  her  case  was  hopeless  ;  she  saw, 
too,  that  her  uncle  possessed  a  similar  conviction  ;  and  sobbed 
agonizingly  when  she  alluded  to  his  altered  looks.  She  had  felt 
a  presentiment,  she  said,  for  some  months  past,  which,  however, 
she  had  never  mentioned  till  then,  that  her  days  were  numbered, 
and  attributed,  too  truly,  her  accelerated  illness  to  the  noxious 
climate  of  India.  She  described  her  sensations  to  be  that  of  a 
constant  void  within,  as  if  there  were  a  something  wanting — an 
unnatural  hollowness — a  dull  deep  aching  in  the  left  side — a 
frequent  inclination  to  relieve  herself  by  spitting,  which,  when 
she  did,  alas,  alas !  she  observed,  more  than  once,  to  be  streaked 
with  blood. 

"  How  long  do  you  think  I  have  to  live,  doctor  ?"  she  enquired 
faintly. 


120  DIABT  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  girl,  do  not,  for  Heaven's  sake,  ask  such  useless 
questions ! — How  can  I  possibly  presume  to  answer  them,  giving 
you  credit  for  a  spark  of  common  sense  ?  "  She  grew  very  pale, 
and  drew  her  handkerchief  across  her  forehead. 

"Is  it  likely  that  I  shall  have  to  endure  much  pain?"  she 
asked,  with  increasing  trepidation.  I  coidd  reply  only  that  I 
hoped  not — that  there  was  no  ground  for  im7«erfzflfe  apprehension 
—and  I  faltered,  that  possibly  a  milder  climate,  and  the  skill  of 
medicine,  might  yet  carry  her  through.  The  poor  girl  shook 
her  head  hopelessly,  and  trembled  violently  from  head  to  foot. 

"  Oh,  poor  uncle ! — Poor,  poor  Ed !"  she  faltered,  and  fell 

fainting  into  my  arms ;  for  the  latter  allusion  to  Captain had 

completely  overcome  her.  Holding  her  senseless  sylph-like 
figure  in  my  arms,  I  hurried  to  the  bell,  and  was  immediately  join- 
ed by  Sir  — — ,  the  governess,  and  one  or  two  female  attendants. 
I  saw  the  baronet  was  beginning  to  behave  like  a  madman,  by 
the  increasing  boisterousness  of  his  manner,  and  the  occasional 
glare  of  wildness  that  shot  from  his  eye.  With  the  utmost  diffi- 
culty I  succeeded  in  forcing  him  from  the  room,  and  keeping 
him  out  till  Miss  Herbert  had  recovered. 

"  Oh,  doctor,  doctor ! "  he  muttered  hoarsely,  after  staggering 
to  a  seat,  "  this  is  worse  than  death !  I  pray  God  to  take  her  and 
me  too,  and  put  an  end  to  our  misery ! " 

I  expostulated  with  him  rather  sternly,  and  represented  to  him 
the  absurdity  and  impiousness  of  his  wish. 

" ! "  he  thundered,  starting  from  his  chair,  and  stamping 

furiously  to  and  fro  across  the  room,  "  What  do  you  mean  by 
drivelUng  in  that  way,  doctor  ?  Can  I  see  my  darling  dying — abso- 
lutely dying  by  inches— before  my  very  eyes,  and  yet  be  cool  and 
unconcerned?  I  did  not  expect  such  conduct  from  you, doctor." 
He  burst  into  tears.  "  Oh !  I'm  going  mad ! — I'm  going  mad ! " 
he  groaned,  and  sank  again  into  his  seat.  From  one  or  two 
efforts  he  made  to  force  down  the  emotions  which  were  swelling 
and  dilating  his  whole  frame,  I  seriously  apprehended  either  that 
he  would  fall  into  a  fit,  or  go  raving  mad.  Happily,  however,  I  was 
mistaken.  His  excitement  gradually  subsided.  He  was  a  man  of 
remarkably  strong  and  ardent  feelings,  which  he  had  never  been 
accustomed  to  control,  even  in  the  moments  of  their  most  violent 


CONSUMPTION. CHAPTER  IX.  121 

manifestations;  and  on  the  present  occasion,  the  maddening 
thought  that  the  object  of  his  long,  intense,  and  idolizing  love 
and  pride  was  about  to  be  lost  to  hira  irretrievably^for  ever — 
was  sufficient  to  overturn  his  shaken  intellects.  I  prevailed  upon 
him  to  continue  where  he  was,  till  I  returned  from  his  niece ;  for  I 
was  summoned  to  her  chamber.  I  found  her  lying  on  the  bed, 
only  partially  undressed.  Her  beautiful  auburn  hair  hung  dis- 
ordered over  her  neck  and  shoulders,  partially  concealing  her 
lovely  marble-hued  features.  Her  left  hand  covered  her  eyes, 
and  her  right  clasped  a  little  locket,  suspended  round  her  neck 

by  a  plain  black  riband,  containing  a  Uttle  of  Captain  's 

hair.  Miss  B ,  her  governess,  her  maid,  and  the  house- 
keeper, with  tears  and  sobs,  were  engaged  in  rendering  various 
little  services  to  their  unfortunate  young  mistress ;  and  my  heart 
ached  to  think  of  the  little — the  nothing — /  could  do  for  her. 

Two  days  afterwards,  Dr  Baillie,  another  physician,  and 
myself,  went  down  to  see  Miss  Herbert ;  for  a  note  from  Miss 

B informed  me  that  her  ward  had  suffered  severely  from  the 

agitation  experienced  at  the  last  visit  I  had  paid  her,  and  was  in 
a  low  nervous  fever.  The  consumptive  symptoms,  also,  were 
beginning  to  gleam  through  the  haze  of  accidental  indisposition 
with  fearful  distinctness !  Dr  Baillie  simply  assured  the  baronet 
that  my  predictions  were  but  too  likely  to  be  verified ;  and  that 
the  only  chance  of  averting  the  worst  form  of  consumption  (a 
galloping  one)  would  be  an  instant  removal  to  Italy,  that  the 
fall  of  the  year,  and  the  winter  season,  might  be  spent  in  a  more 
genial  and  fostering  climate.     We,  at  the  same  time,  frankly 

assured  Sir ,  who  listened  with  a  sullen,  despairing  apathy 

of  manner,  that  the  utmost  he  had  to  expect  from  a  visit  to 
Italy,  was  the  chance  of  a  temporary  suspension  of  the  fate  which 
hovered  over  his  niece.  In  a  few  weeks,  accordingly,  they  were 
all  settled  at  Naples. 

But  what  have  I  to  say,  all  this  time,  the  reader  is  possibly 
asking,  about  the  individual  who  was  singled  out  by  fate  for  the 
first  and  heaviest  stroke  inflicted  by  Miss  Herbert's  approaching 

dissolution  ?  Where  was  the  lover  ?  Where  was  Captain ? 

[  have  avoided  allusions  to  him  hitherto,  because  his  distress  and 
agitation  transcended  all  my  powers  of  description.     He  loved 


122  DIARY  or  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

Miss  Herbert  with  all  the  passionate  romantic  fervour  of  a  first 
attachment ;  and  the  reader  must  ask  his  own  heart,  what  were 
the  feelings  hy  which  that  of  Captain was  lacerated. 

I  shall  content  myself  with  recording  one  little  incident  which 

occurred  before  the  family  of  Sir  left  for  Italy.    I  was 

retiring  one  night  to  rest,  about  twelve  o'clock,  when  the  start- 
ling summons  of  the  night-bell  brought  me  again  down  stairs, 
accompanied  by  a  servant.  Thrice  the  bell  rang  with  impatient 
violence  before  the  door  could  possibly  be  opened,  and  I  heard 
the  steps  of  some  vehicle  let  down  hastily. 

"  Is  Dr at  home  ?  "  enquired  a  groom,  and  being  answered 

in  the  affirmative,  in  a  second  or  two  a  gentleman  leaped  from  a 
chariot  standing  at  the  door,  and  hurried  into  the  room,  whither 
I  had  retired  to  await  him.  He  was  in  a  sort  of  half  military 
travelling  dress.  His  face  was  pale,  his  eye  sunk,  his  hair  dis- 
ordered, and  his  voice  thick  and  hurried.     It  was  Captain , 

who  had  been  absent  on  a  shooting  excursion  in  Scotland,  and 
who  had  not  received  intelligence  of  the  alarming  symptoms 
disclosed  by  Miss  Herbert,  till  within  four  days  of  that  which 
found  him  at  my  house,  on  the  present  occasion,  come  to  ascer- 
tain from  me  the  reality  of  the   melancholy  apprehension  so 

suddenly  entertained  by  Sir  and  the  other  members  of 

both  families. 

"  Gracious  God !  Is  there  no  hope,  doctor ! "  he  enquired 
faintly,  after  swallowing  a  glass  of  wine,  which,  seeing  his  ex- 
haustion and  agitation,  I  had  sent  for.  I  endeavoured  to  evade 
giving  a  direct  answer — attempted  to  divert  his  thoughts  towards 
the  projected  trip  to  the  continent — dilated  on  the  soothing, 
balmy  climate  she  would  have  to  breathe — it  had  done  wonders 
for  others,  &c. — and,  in  a  word,  exhausted  the  stock  of  inefficient 
subterfuges  and  palliatives  to  which  all  professional  men  are,  on 

such  occasions,  compelled  to  resort.     Captain  listened  to 

me  silently,  while  his  eye  was  fixed  on  me  with  a  vacant,  unob- 
serving  stare.  His  utter  wretchedness  touched  me  to  the  soul ; 
and  yet,  what  consolation  had  I  to  offer  him?  After  several 
profound  sighs,  he  exclaimed  in  a  flurried  tone,  "  I  see  how  it 
is.  Her  fate  is  fixed — and  so  is  mine!  Would  to  God — ^would 
to  God,  I  had  never  seen  or  known  Miss  Herbert! — TFAof  will 


CONSUMPTION. CHAPTER  IX.  123 

become  of  us ! "  He  rose  to  go.  "  Doctor,  forgive  me  for 
troubling  you  so  late,  but  really  I  can  rest  nowhere !    I  must  go 

back  to HaU."     I  shook  hands  with  him,  and  in  a  few 

moments  the  chariot  dashed  off. 

Really  I  can  scarcely  conceive  of  a  more  dreadful  state  of 

mind  than  that  of  Captain ,  or  of  any  one  whose  "  heart  is 

in  the  right  place,"  to  use  a  homely  but  apt  expression,  when 
placed  in  such  wretched  circumstances  as  those  above  related. 
To  see  the  death-warrant  sealed  of  her  a  man's  soul  doats  on — 
vi^ho  is  the  idolized  object  of  his  holiest,  fondest,  and  possibly 
first  affections!  Yes,  to  see  her  bright  and  beautiful  form  sud- 
denly snatched  down  into  "  utter  darkness  "  by  the  cold  relent- 
less grasp  of  our  common  foe — "  the  desire  of  our  eyes  taken 
away  as  with  a  stroke" — may  well  wither  one.  That  man's 
soul  which  would  not  be  palsied — prostrated,  by  such  a  stroke 
as  this,  is  worthless,  and  worse — it  is  a  libel  on  his  kind.  He 
cannot  love  a  woman  as  she  should  and  must  be  loved.  But 
why  am  I  so  vehement  in  expressing  my  feelings  on  the  subject  ? 
Because,  in  the  course  of  my  professional  intercourse,  my  soul 
has  been  often  sickened  with  listening  to  the  expression  of  oppo- 
site sentiments.  The  poor  and  pitiful  philosophy — that  the 
word  should  ever  have  been  so  prostituted ! — which  is  now  sneak- 
ing in  among  us,  fostered  by  foolish  lads,  and  men  with  hollow 
hearts  and  barren  brains,  for  the  purpose  of  weeding  out  from 
the  soul's  garden  its  richest  and  choicest  flowers,  sympathy  and 
sentiment — this  philosophy  may  possibly  prompt  some  reader  to 
sneer  over  the  agonies  I  have  been  attempting  to  describe ;  but, 
O  reader!  do  you  eschew  it — trample  on  it  whenever,  wherever 
you  find  it,  for  the  reptile,  though  very  little,  is  very  venomous. 

Captain 's  regiment  was  ordered  to  Ireland,  and  as  he 

found  it  impossible  to  accompany  it,  he  sold  out,  and  presently 
followed  the  heart-broken  baronet  and  his  niece  to  Italy.  The 
delicious  climate  sufficed  to  kindle  and  foster  for  a  while  that 
deceitful  ignis  faiuus — hope,  which  always  flits  before  in  the 
gloomy  horizon  of  consumptive  patients,  and  leads  them  and 
their  friends  on — and  on — and  on — till  it  suddenly  sinks  quiver- 
ing into  their  grave !  They  stayed  at  Naples  till  the  month  of 
July.     Miss  Herbert  was  sinking,  and  that  with  fearfully  acce- 


124  DIARY  OP   A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

lerated  rapidity.     Sir 's  health  was  mucli  impaired  with 

incessant  anxiety  and  watching;  and  Captain  had  been 

several  times  on  the  very  borders  of  madness.  His  love  for  the 
dear  being  who  could  never  be  his,  increased  ten  thousand-fold 
when  he  found  it  hopeless ! — Is  it  not  always  so  ? 

Aware  that  her  days  were  numbered,  Miss  Herbert  anxiously 
importuned  her  uncle  to  return  to  England.  She  wished,  she 
said,  to  breathe  her  last  in  her  native  isle — among  the  green 

pastures  and  hills  of shire,  and  to  be  buried  beside  her 

father  and  mother.     Sir listened  to  the  utterance  of  these 

sentiments  with  a  breaking  heart.  He  could  see  no  reason  for 
refusing  a  compliance  with  her  request;  and,  accordingly,  the 
latter  end  of  August  beheld  the  unhappy  family  once  more  at 
Hall. 

I  once  saw  a  very  beautiful  lily,  of  rather  more  than  ordinary 
stateliness,  whose  stem  had  been  snapped  by  the  storm  over 
night;  and,  on  entering  my  garden  in  the  morning,  there,  alas! 
alas !  lay  the  pride  of  all  chaste  flowers,  pallid  and  prostrate  on 
the  very  bed  where  it  had  a  short  while  before  bloomed  so 
sweetly !  This  little  circumstance  was  forcibly  recalled  to  my 
recollection,  on  seeing  Miss  Herbert  for  the  first  time  after  her 
return  from  the  continent.  It  was  in  the  spacious  drawing- 
room  at Hall,  where  I  had  before  seen  her,  in  the  evening, 

and  she  was  reclining  on  an  ottoman,  which  had  been  drawn 
towards  the  large  fretted  Gothic  window,  formerly  mentioned. 
I  stole  towards  it  with  noiseless  footsteps  ;  for  the  hushing,  cau- 
tioning movements  of  those  present  warned  me  that  Miss  Her- 
bert was  asleep.  I  stood  and  gazed  in  silence  for  some  moments 
on  the  lovely  unfortunate — almost  afraid  to  disturb  her,  even  by 
breathing.  She  was  wasted  almost  to  a  shadow — attenuated  to 
nearly  ethereal  delicacy  and  transparency.  She  was  dressed  in 
a  plain  white  muslin  gown,  and  lying  on  an  Indian  shawl,  in 
which  she  had  been  enveloped  for  the  purpose  of  being  brought 
down  from  her  bed-chamber.  Her  small  foot  and  ankle  were 
concealed  beneath  white  silk  stockings  and  satin  slippers- 
through  which  it  might  be  seen  how  they  were  shrunk  from  the 
full  dimensions  of  health.  They  seemed,  indeed,  rather  the 
exquisite  chiselling  of  Canova,  the  representation  of  recumbent 


CONSUMPTION. CHAPTER  TX.  125 

beauty,  than  flesh  and  blood,  and  scarcely  capable  of  sustaining 
even  the  slight  pressure  of  Miss  Herbert's  wasted  frame.  The 
arms  and  hands  were  enveloped  in  long  white  gloves,  which 
fitted  very  loosely;  and  her  waist,  encircled  by  a  broad  violet- 
coloured  riband,  was  rather  that  of  a  young  girl  of  twelve  or 
thirteen,  than  a  full-grown  woman.  But  it  was  her  countenance 
— her  symmetrical  features,  sunk,  faded,  and  damp  with  death- 
dews,  and  her  auburn  hair  falling  in  rich  matted  careless  clusters 
down  each  side  of  her  alabaster  temples  and  neck  ;  it  was  all 
this  which  suggested  the  bitterest  thoughts  of  blighted  beauty, 
almost  breaking  the  heart  of  the  beholder.  Perfectly  motion- 
less and  statue-like  lay  that  fair  creature,  breathing  so  imper- 
ceptibly, that  a  rose-leaf  might  have  slept  on  her  lips  unfluttered! 
On  an  easy-chair,  drawn  towards  the  head  of  the  ottoman,  sat 

her  uncle,  Sir  ,  holding  a  white  handkerchief  in  his  hand, 

with  which  he,  from  time  to  time,  wiped  off  the  dews  which 
started  out  incessantly  on  his  niece's  pallid  forehead.  It  was 
affecting  to  see  his  hair  changed  to  a  dull  iron-grey  hue;  whereas, 
before  he  had  left  for  the  continent,  it  was  jet  black.  His  sal- 
low and  worn  features  bore  the  traces  of  recent  tears. 

And  where  now  is  the  lover  ?    Where  is  Captain  ?  again 

enquires  the  reader.  He  was  then  at  Milan,  raving  beneath  the 
tortures  and  delirium  of  a  brain  fever,  which  flung  him  on  his 
sick-bed  only  the  day  before  Sir 's  family  set  out  for  Eng- 
land. Miss  Herbert  had  not  been  told  of  the  circumstance  till 
she  arrived  at  home;  and  those  who  communicated  the  intelli- 
gence will  never  undertake  such  a  duty  again ! 

After  some  time,  in  which  we  around  had  maintained  perfect 
silence,  Miss  Herbert  gently  opened  her  eyes ;  and  seeing  me 
sitting  opposite  her  uncle,  by  her  side,  gave  me  her  hand,  and, 
with  a  faint  smile,  whispered  some  words  of  welcome  which  I 
could  not  distinguish. 

"Am  I  much  altered,  doctor,  since  you  saw  me  last?"  she 
presently  enquired,  in  a  more  audible  tone.  I  said,  I  regretted 
to  see  her  so  feeble  and  emaciated. 

"  And  does  not  my  poor  uncle  also  look  very  ill  ?  "  enquired 
the  poor  girl,  eyeing  him  with  a  look  of  sorrowful  fondness. 
She  feebly  extended  her  arras,  as  if  for  the  purpose  of  putting 


126  DIAEY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

them  round  his  neck,  and  he  seized  and  kissed  them  with  such 
fervour  that  she  burst  into  tears.  "Your  kindness  is  killing 
me— oh !  don't,  don't ! "  she  murmured.  He  was  so  overpowered 
with  his  emotions,  that  he  abruptly  rose  and  left  the  room.  I 
then  made  many  minute  enquiries  about  the  state  of  her  health. 
I  could  hardly  detect  any  pulsation  at  the  wrist,  though  the  blue 
veins,  and  almost  the  arteries,  I  fancied,  might  be  seen  mean- 
dering beneath  the  transparent  skin. 

******* 

My  feelings  will  not  allow  me,  nor  would  my  space,  to  describe 
every  interview  I  had  with  her.  She  sank  very  rapidly.  She 
exhibited  all  those  sudden  deceitful  rallyings,  which  invariably 
agonize  consumptive  patients  and  their  friends  with  fruitless 
hopes  of  recovery.  Oh,  how  they  are  clung  to !  how  hard  to 
persuade  their  fond  hearts  to  relinquish  them !  with  what  de- 
spairing obstinacy  will  they  persist  in  "  hoping  against  hope ! " 
I  recollect  one  evening,  in  particular,  that  her  shattered  energies 
were  so  unaccountably  revived  and  collected,  her  eye  grew  so  fuU 
and  bright,  her  cheeks  were  suffused  with  so  rich  a  vermihon, 
her  voice  soft  and  sweet  as  ever,  and  her  spirits  so  exhilarated, 

that  even  /  was  staggered  for  a  moment ;  and  poor  Sir got 

so  excited,  that  he  said  to  me,  in  a  sort  of  ecstasy,  as  he  accom- 
panied me  to  my  carriage,  "  Ah,  doctor,  a  phcenix  ! — Doctor,  a 
phoenix !  She's  rising  from  her  ashes — ah  !  ha !  She'll  cheat  you 
for  once — darling ! "  and  he  raised  his  handkerchief  to  his  eyes, 
for  they  were  overflowing. 

******* 

"  Doctor,  you're  fond  of  music,  I  believe ;  you  won't  have  any 
objection  to  listen  to  a  little  now,  will  you  ? — I'm  exactly  in  the 
mood  for  it,  and  it's  almost  the  only  enjoyment  I  have  left,  and 

Miss  B plays  enchantingly.     Go,  love,  please,  and  play  a 

mass  from  Mozart — the  one  we  listened  to  last  night,"  said  Miss 
Herbert,  on  one  occasion,  about  a  week  after  the  interview  last 

mentioned.     Miss  B ,  who  was  in  tears,  immediately  rose, 

and  took  her  seat  at  the  piano.  She  played  exquisitely.  I  held 
one  of  my  sweet  patient's  hands  in  mine,  as  she  lay  on  the  sofa, 
with  her  face  turned  towards  the  window,  through  which  the 
retiring  sunlight  was  streaming  in  tender  radiance  on  her  wasted 


CONSUMPTION. — CHAPTER  IX.  127 

features,  after  tinting'  richly  the  amber-hued  groves  which  were 
visible  through  the  window.     I  need  not  attempt  to  characterize 

the  melting  music  which  Miss  B was  pouring  from  the 

piano.  I  have  often  thought  that  there  is  a  sort  of  spiritual 
character  about  some  of  the  masses  of  Mozart,  which  draws  out 
the  greatest  sympathies  of  one's  nature,  striking  the  deepest  and 
most  hidden  chords  of  the  human  heart.  On  the  present  occa- 
sion, the  peculiar  circumstances  in  which  I  was  placed — the 
time,  the  place,  the  dying  angel  whose  hand  was  clasped  in  mine 
— disposed  me  to  a  more  intense  appreciation  of  Mozart's  music 
than  I  had  ever  known  before.  The  soft,  soothing,  solemn, 
swelling  cadences  undulated  one  after  another  into  my  full 
heart,  till  they  forced  the  tears  to  gush  from  my  eyes.  I  was 
utterly  overcome.  Oh,  that  languishing,  heart-breaking  music 
I  can  never  forget !  The  form  of  Eliza  Herbert  flits  before  me 
to  this  day  when  I  hear  it  spoken  of.  I  will  not  listen  to  any 
one  play  it  now — though  I  have  often  wept  since  on  hearing  it 

from  Miss  B ,  to  whom  Miss  Herbert  bequeathed  her  piano. 

But,  to  return  :  My  tears  flowed  fast ;  and  I  perceived  also  the 
crystal  drops  oozing  through  the  closed  eyelids  of  Miss  Herbert. 
"Heart-breaking  music,  is  it  not,  doctor?"  she  murmured.  I 
could  make  her  no  reply.  I  felt  at  that  moment  as  if  I  could 
have   laid  down  my  life  for  her.     After  a  long  pause,  Miss 

B continuing  all  the  while  playing.  Miss  Herbert  sobbed — 

"  Oh,  how  I  should  like  to  be  buried  while  the  organ  is  playing 
this  music  !  And  he — he  was  fond  of  it  too  ! "  she  continued, 
with  a  long  shuddering  sigh.  It  was  echoed,  to  my  surprise, 
but  in  a  profounder  tone,  from  that  quarter  of  the  room  where 
the  grand  piano  was  placed.     It  could  not  have  been  from  Miss 

B ,  I  felt  sure  ;  and,  looking  towards  her,  I  beheld  the  dim 

outline  of  Sir 's  figure  leaning  against  the  piano,  with  his 

face  buried  in  his  white  handkerchief.  He  had  stolen  into  the 
room  unperceived ;  for  he  had  left  it  half  an  hour  before,  in  a  fit 
of  sudden  agitation;  and,  after  continuing  about  five  minutes, 
was  compelled  by  his  feelings  again  to  retire.  His  sigh,  and  the 
noise  he  made  in  withdrawing,  had  been  heard  by  Miss  Herbert. 
"  Doctor — doctor  ! "  she  stammered  faintly,  turning  as  white 
as  ashes,  "  who — ^who  is  that  ? — what  was  it  ? — Oh   dear !  it 


128  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

can  never  be — no — no — it  cannot " — and  she  suddenly  fainted. 
She  continued  so  long  insensible,  that  I  began  to  fear  it  was  all 
over.  Gradually,  however,  she  recovered,  and  was  carried  up  to 
bed,  which  she  did  not  leave  again  for  a  week. 

I  mentioned,  I  think,  in  a  former  part  of  this  narrative,  Miss 
Herbert's  partiality  for  poetry,  and  that  her  readings  were  con- 
fined to  that  which  was  of  the  highest  order.  Among  the  MSS. 
found  in  her  desk,  poor  girl,  after  her  decease,  were  many 
extracts  from  the  poets,  copied  in  a  beautiful  hand,  and  evincing 
true  taste  in  their  selection.  She  was  particularly  partial  to 
'Thomson's  Seasons,"  especially  "Winter,"  from  which  she 
transcribed  largely.  There  are  also  a  few  unpretending  sonnets 
and  stanzas  of  her  own  ;  which,  if  not  of  first-rate  excellence, 
breathe,  nevertheless,  the  sweetest  sentiments  of  virtue,  simpli- 
city, and  delicacy.  If  I  had  been  permitted,  I  should  have  liked 
to  lay  before  the  reader  a  little  "  Sonnet  to  a  Dead  Robin,"  and 
"  To  a  Moss  Rose."  I  have  also  often  heard  her,  while  sitting 
by  her  bedside,  utter  very  beautiful  thoughts,  suggested  by  the 
bitterness  of  her  own  premature  fate.  All — all  are  treasured  in 
my  heart ! 

I  have  not  attempted  to  describe  her  feelings  with  reference 
to  Captain ,  simply  because  I  cannot  do  them  justice,  with- 
out, perhaps,  incurring  the  reader's  suspicions  that  I  am  slipping 
into   the   character  of  the  novelist.      She  did  not  know  that 

Captain continued  yet  at  death's  door  at  Milan,  for  we  felt 

bound  to  spare  her  feelings.  We  fabricated  a  story  that  he  had 
been  summoned  into  Egypt,  to  enquire  after  the  fate  of  a  bro- 
ther who  had  travelled  thither,  and  whose  fate,  we  said,  was 
doubtful.  Poor  girl !  she  believed  us  at  last — and  seemed  rather 
inclined  to  accuse  him  of  unkindness  for  allowing  any  thing  to 
withdraw  him  from  her  side.  She  never,  however,  said  any 
thing  directly  of  this  kind.     It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that 

Captain never  knew  of  the  fiction.     I  have  never,  to  this 

day,  entirely  forgiven  myself  for  the  part  I  took  in  it. 

I  found  her  one  morning,  within  a  few  days  of  her  death, 
wretchedly  exhausted  both  in  mind  and  body.  She  had  passed, 
as  usual,  a  restless   night,  unsoothed  even  by  the  laudanum 


CONSUMPTION. — CHAPTER  IX.  129 

which  had  been  administered  to  her  in  much  larger  quantities 
than  her  medical  attendants  had  authorized.  It  had  stupefied, 
without,  at  the  same  time,  composing  and  calming  her.  Poor 
— poor  girl!  almost  the  last  remains  of  her  beauty  had  disap- 
peared. There  was  a  fearful  hollowness  in  her  once  lovely  and 
blooming  cheeks ;  and  her  eyes — those  bright  orbs  which  had  a 
short  while  ago  dazzled  and  delighted  all  they  shone  upon — 
were  now  sunk,  quenched,  and  surrounded  by  dark  haloes !  She 
lay  with  her  head  buried  deep  in  the  pillow,  and  her  hair  folded 
back,  matted  with  perspiration.  Her  hands — but  I  cannot 
attempt  to  describe  her  appearance  any  further. 

Sir sat  by  her  bedside,  as  he  had  sat  all  through  her 

illness,  and  was  utterly  worn  out.     I  occupied  the  chair  allotted 

to  Miss  B ,  who  had  just  retired  to  bed,  having  been  up  all 

night.  After  a  long  silence.  Miss  Herbert  asked  very  faintly 
for  some  tea,  which  was  presently  brought  her,  and  dropped 
into  her  mouth  by  spoonfuls.  Soon  after,  she  revived  a  little, 
and  spoke  to  me,  but  in  so  low  a  whisper,  that  I  had  great  dif- 
ficulty in  distinguishing  her  words.  The  exertion  of  utterance, 
also,  was  attended  with  so  much  evident  pain,  that  I  would 
rather  she  had  continued  silent. 

"  Laudanum — ^laudanum  —  laudanum,  doctor !  They  don't 
give  me  enough  of  laudanum!"  she  muttered.  We  made  her 
no  reply.  Presently  she  began  mminuring  at  intervals  some- 
what in  this  strain: — "Ah — among  the  pyramids — looking  at 
them — sketching — ascending  them,  perhaps — oh !  what  if  they 
should  fall  and  crush  him?  Has  he  found  his  brother  ?  On  his 
way — home — sea — ships — ship."  Still  we  did  not  interrupt 
her,  for  her  manner  indicated  only  a  dim  dreary  sort  of  half- 
consciousness.  About  an  hour  afterwards  (why  did  I  linger 
there,  it  may  be  asked,  when  I  could  do  nothing  for  her,  and 
could  ill  spare  the  time?  I  know  not — I  could  not  leave  her) 
she  again  commenced  in  a  low  moaning,  wandering  tone — 
"  Uncle  !  'V\Tiat  do  you  think  ?  Chatterton — poor  melancholy 
Chatterton,  sat  by  my  side  all  night  long,  in  that  chair  where 
Dr is  sitting.  He  died  of  a  broken  heart — or  of  my  dis- 
ease, didn't  he?  Wan — wan— sad — cold — ghostly — but  so  like 
a  poet!  Oh,  how  he  talked!  no  one  earthly  like  him!  His 
1  1 


130  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

voice  was  like  the  mysterious  music  of  an  ^olian  harp — so 

solemn — soft — stealing! *  *    He  put  his  icy  fingers  over 

my  heart,  and  said  it  must  soon  be  as  cold !  But  he  told  me  not 
to  be  afraid,  nor  weep,  because  I  was  dying  so  young — so  early. 
He  said  I  was  a  young  rose-tree,  and  would  have  the  longer  to 
bloom  and  blossom  when  he  came  for  me."  She  smiled  faintly 
and  sadly.  "  Oh,  dear,  dear ! — I  wish  I  had  him  here  again ! 
But  he  looks  very  cold  and  ghostly — never  moves — nothing 
rustles — I  never  hear  him  come,  or  go — but  I  look,  and  there 
he  is!  And  I'm  not  at  all  frightened,  for  he  seems  gentle;  but  I 

think  he  can't  be  happy — ^happy — never  smiles,  never ! *  * 

Dying  people  see  and  hear  more  than  others  !  " 

This,  I  say,  is  the  substance  of  what  she  uttered.  All  she 
said  was  pervaded  by  a  sad  romance,  which  showed  that  her 
soul  was  deeply  imbued  with  poetry. 

"  Toll! — toll! — toll! — How  solemn ! — White  plumes !— white 
scarfs! — Hush ! — '  Earth  to  earth ' — Oh,  dreadful !  It  is  crumb- 
ling on  my  heart !  They  all  go — they  leave  me  all — poor,  poor 
Eliza ! — they  leave  me  all  alone  in  the  cold  church.  Hell  often 
walk  in  the  church  by  himself — his  tears  will  fall  on  the  pave- 
ment— but  I  shall  not  hear  him — nor  see  him !  He  will  ne- 
ver see  me !  Will  the  organ  play,  I  wonder  ?  It  may  wake  me 
from  sleep  for  a  while  ! "  I  listened  to  all  this,  and  was  fit  for 
nothing  the  rest  of  the  day.  Again — again  I  saw  her,  to  let 
fall  tears  over  the  withered  petals,  the  blighted  blossoms  of  early 
beauty!  It  wrung  my  heart  to  see  her  little  more  than  a 
breathing  corpse.  Oh !  the  gloom — anguish — desolation — dif- 
fused through Hall !    It  could  he  felt;  it  oppressed  you,  on 

entering ! 

*  *  *  On  Saturday  morning  (the  —  day  of  November  18— ), 
I  drove  down  early,  having  the  preceding  evening  promised  to 
be  there  as  soon  as  possible  the  next  day.  It  was  a  scowling 
November  morning,  and  my  heart  sank  within  me  as  my  chariot 

rattled  rapidly  along  the  hard  highway  towards  Hall. 

But  I  was  TOO  LATE.  The  curtain  had  fallen,  and  hid  poor 
Eliza  Herbert  from  this  world,  for  ever !  She  had  expired  about 
half  an  hour  before  mv  arrival. 


THE  SPECTBAX  DOG. CHAPTER  X.  131 

As  I  was  returning  to  town,  after  attending  the  funeral  of 
Miss  Herbert,  full  of  bitter  and  sorrowful  thoughts,  I  met  a 
travelling   carriage-and-four   thundering   down   the   road.     It 

contained  poor  Captain  ,  his  valet,  and  a  young  Italian 

medical  attendant — all  just  returned  from  the  continent.  He 
looked  white  and  wasted.  The  crape  on  my  hat — my  gloves — 
weepers — mourning  suit,  told  all  instantly.  I  was  in  a  moment 
at  his  side — for  he  had  swooned. 

As  for  the  disconsolate  baronet,  little  remains  to  be  said.    He 

disposed  of Hall;  and,  sick  of  England — ill  and  irritable — 

he  attempted  to  regain  his  Indian  appointment,  but  unsuccess- 
fully ;  so  he  betook  himself  to  a  solitary  house  belonging  to  the 

family  in shire;  and,  in  the  touching  language  of  one  of 

old,  "  went  on  mourning  to  the  end  of  his  days." 


CHAPTER  X. 

J  THE  SPECTRAL  DOG. 

It 

.|  AN   ILLUSION. 

The  age  of  ghosts  and  hobgoblins  is  gone  by,  says  worthy 

Dr  Hibbert ;  and  so,  after  him,  says  almost  every  body  now-a- 

_  days.     These  mysterious  visitants  are  henceforth  to  be  resolved 

into  mere  optical  delusions,  acting  on  an  excitable  fancy — an 

irritable  nervous  temperament ;  and  the  report  of  a  real  bona 

fide  ghost,  or  apparition,  is  utterly  scouted.     Possibly  this  may 

'      not  be  going  too  far,  even  though  it  be  in  the  teeth  of  some  of  the 

f"    most  stubborn  facts  that  are  on  record.     One,  or  possibly  two, 

'''    of  this  character,  I  may  perhaps  present  to  the  reader  on  a 

■^l    future  occasion ;  but  at  present  I  shall  content  myself  with  rela- 

-'^    ting  a  very  curious  and  interesting  case  of  acknowledged  optical 

•'    delusion;  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  many  of  my  medical  readers 

tsf    can  parallel  it  with  similar  occurrences  within  the  sphere  of  their 

own  observation. 


132  1)1  ART  OF  A  I>ATE  PHYSICIAN. 

Mr  D was  a  clergyman  of  the  Church  of  England,  edu- 
cated at  Oxford — a  scholar,  a  "  ripe  and  good  one  " — a  man  of 
remarkably  acute  and  powerful  understanding ;  but,  according 
to  his  own  account,  destitute  of  even  an  atom  of  imagination. 
He  was  also  an  exemplary  minister ;  preached  twice  willingly 
every  Sunday,  and  performed  all  the  other  duties  of  his  office  with 
zealous  fidelity,  and  to  the  full  satisfaction  of  his  parishioners. 
If  any  man  is  less  likely  to  be  terrified  with  ghosts,  or  has  less 
reason  to  be  so,  than  another,  surely  it  was  such  a  character 
as  Mr  D •. 

He  had  been  officiating  one  Sunday  evening  for  an  invalid 
friend,  at  the  latter's  church,  a  few  miles  distant  from  London,  and 
was  walking  homewards,  enjoying  the  tranquillity  of  the  night, 
and  enlivened  by  the  cheerful  beams  of  the  full  moon  ;  when,  at 
about  three  miles'  distance  from  town,  he  suddenly  heard,  or 
fancied  he  heard,  immediately  behind  him,  the  sound  of  gasping 
and  panting  as  of  a  dog  following  at  his  heels,  breathless  with 
running.  He  looked  round  on  both  sides,  but  seeing  no  dog, 
thought  he  must  have  been  deceived,  and  resumed  his  walk  and 
meditations.  The  sound  was  presently  repeated.  Again  he 
looked  round,  but  with  no  better  success  than  before.  After  a 
little  pause,  thinking  there  was  something  rather  odd  about  it,  it 
suddenly  struck  him,  that  what  he  had  heard  was  nothing  more 
than  the  noise  of  his  own  hard  breathing,  occasioned  by  the 
insensibly  accelerated  pace  at  which  he  was  walking,  intent  upon 
some  subject  which  then  particularly  occupied  his  thoughts.  He 
had  not  walked  more  than  ten  paces  farther,  when  he  again  heard 
precisely  similar  sounds,  but  with  a  running  accompaniment— 
if  I  may  be  allowed  a  pun — of  the  pit-pit-pattering  of  a  dog's 
feet,  following  close  behind  his  left  side. 

"  God  bless  me ! "  exclaimed  Mr  D aloud,  stopping  for 

the  third  time,  and  looking  around  in  all  directions,  far  and  near ; 
"  why,  really,  that's  very  odd — very ! — Surely  I  could  not  have 
been  mistaken  again?"  He  continued  standing  still,  wiped  his 
forehead,  replaced  his  hat  on  his  head,  and  with  a  little  trepida- 
tion resumed  his  walk,  striking  his  stout  black  walking-stick  on 
the  ground  with  a  certain  energy  and  resoluteness,  which  suffi- 
ced in  re-assuring  his  own  flurried  spirits.     The  next  thirty  or 


THE  SPECTRAL  DOG. CHAPTER  X.  133 

forty  paces  of  his  walk,  Mr  D passed  over  erectis  auribus, 

and  hearing  nothing  similar  to  the  sounds  which  had  thrice 
attracted  his  attention,  was  relapsing  into  his  meditative  mood, 
when,  in  a  few  moments,  the  noise  was  repeated,  apparently  from 
his  right  hand  side  ;  and  he  gave  something  like  a  start  from  the 
path-side  into  the  road,  on  feeling  the  calf  of  his  leg  brushed 
past — as  he  described  it — by  the  shaggy  coat  of  his  invisible 
attendant.  He  looked  suddenly  down,  and,  to  his  very  great  alarm 
and  astonishment,  beheld  the  dim  outline  of  a  large  Newfound- 
land dog,  of  a  bliie  colour !  He  moved  from  the  spot  where  he 
was  standing — the  phantom  followed  him — he  rubbed  his  eyes 
with  his  hands,  shook  his  head,  and  again  looked ;  but  there  it  still 
was,  large  as  a  young  calf  (to  which  he  himself  compared  it),  and 
had  assumed  a  more  distinct  and  definite  form.  The  colour,  how- 
ever, continued  the  same — faint  blue.  He  observed,  too,  its  eyes 
— like  dim- decaying  fire-coals,  as  it  looked  composedly  up  in  his 
face.  He  poked  about  his  walking-stick,  and  moved  it  repeatedly 
through  and  through  the  form  of  the  phantom ;  but  there  it  con- 
tinued— indivisible — impalpable — in  short,  as  much  a  dog  as 
ever,  and  yet  the  stick  traversing  its  form  in  every  direction, 

from  the  tail  to  the  tip  of  the  nose !    Mr  D hurried  on  a 

few  steps,  and  again  looked — there  was  the  dog  ! — Now,  it  is  fit 

the  reader  should  be  informed  that  Mr  D was  a  remarkably 

temperate  man,  and  had,  that  evening,  contented  himself  with  a 
solitary  glass  of  port  by  the  bedside  of  his  sick  brother  ;  so  that 
there  was  no  room  for  supposing  his  perceptions  to  have  been 
disturbed  with  liquor. 

"  What  can  it  be  ?  "  thought  he,  while  his  heart  knocked  rather 
harder  than  usual  against  the  bars  of  its  prison — "  Oh  !  it  must 
be  an  optical  delusion — oh,  'tis  clearly  so !  nothing  in  the  world 
else !  that's  all.  How  odd ! "  and  he  smiled,  he  thought,  verj' 
unconcernedly  ;  but  another  glimpse  of  the  ])hantom  standing  by 
him  in  blue  distinctness  instantly  darkened  his  features  with  the 
hue  of  apprehension.  If  it  really  was  an  optical  delusion,  it  was 
the  most  fixed  and  pertinacious  one  he  ever  heard  of!  The  best 
part  of  valour  is  discretion,  says  Shakspeare — and  in  all  things  ; 
so,  observing  a  coach  passing  by  at  that  moment,  to  put  an  end 
to  the  matter,  Mr  D ,  with  a  little  trepidation  in  his  tone, 


134  DIAET  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

ordered  it  to  stop  ;  there  was  just  room  for  one  inside  ;  and  in 

stepped  Mr  D ,  chuckling  at  the  cunning  fashion  after  which 

he  had  succeeded  in  jockeying  his  strange  attendant.  Not  feel- 
ing inclined  to  talk  with  the  fat  woman  who  sat  next  him, 
squeezing  him  most  unmercifully  against  the  side  of  the  coach, 
nor  with  the  elderly  grazier-looking  man  fronting  him,  whose 
large  dirty  top-boots  seriously  incommoded  him,  he  shut  his 
eyes,  that  he  might  pursue  his  thoughts  imdisturbed.  After 
about  five  minutes'  riding,  he  suddenly  opened  his  eyes — and  the 
first  thing  that  met  them  was  the  figure  of  the  blue  dog,  lying 
stretched,  in  some  unaccountable  manner,  at  his  feet,  half  under 
the  seat ! 

"  I — I — hope  THE  DOG  does  not  annoy  you,  sir  ?  "  enquired 
Mr  D ,  a  little  flustered,  of  the  man  opposite,  hoping  to  dis- 
cern whether  the  dog  chose  to  be  visible  to  any  one  else. 

"  Sir ! "  exclaimed  the  person  he  addressed,  starting  from  a 
kind  of  doze,  and  staring  about  in  the  bottom  of  the  coach. 

"  Lord,  sir ! "  echoed  the  woman  beside  him. 

"  A  DOG,  sir,  did  you  say  ?  "  enquired  all  in  a  breath. 

"  Oh — nothing — nothing,  I  assure  you.    'Tis  a  little  mistake," 

replied  Mr  D ,  with  a  faint  smile ;  "  I — I  thought — in  short, 

I  find  I've  been  dreaming;  and  I'm  sure  I  beg  pardon  for  dis- 
turbing you."     Every  one  in  the  coach  laughed,  except  Mr 

D ,  whose  eyes  continued  riveted  on  the  dim  blue  outline 

of  the  dog,  lying  motionless  at  his  feet.  He  was  now  certain 
that  he  was  suffering  from  an  optical  illusion  of  some  sort  or 
other,  and  endeavoured  to  prevent  his  thoughts  from  running 
into  an  alarmed  channel,  by  striving  to  engage  his  faculties 
with  the  philosophy  of  the  thing.  He  could  make  nothing  out, 
however;  and  the  Q.E.D.  of  his  thinkings  startled  him  not  a 
little,  when  it  came  in  the  shape  of  the  large  blue  dog,  leaping 
at  his  heels  out  of  the  coach,  when  he  alighted.  Arrived  at 
home,  he  lost  sight  of  the  phantom  during  the  time  of  supper 
and  the  family  devotions.  As  soon  as  he  had  extinguished  his 
bed-room  candle,  and  got  into  bed,  he  was  nearly  leaping  out 
again,  on  feeling  a  sensation  as  if  a  large  dog  had  jumped  on 
that  part  of  the  bed  where  his  feet  lay.  He  felt  its  pressure ! 
He  said  he  was  inclined  to  rise,  and  make  it  a  subject  of  special 


THE  SPECTRAL  DOG. CHAPTER  X.  135 

prayer  to   the  Deity!     Mrs  D asked  him  what  was  the 

matter  with  him  ?  for  he  became  very  cold,  and  shivered  a  little. 
He  easily  quieted  her  with  saying  he  felt  a  little  chilled ;  and,  as 
soon  as  she  was  fairly  asleep,  he  got  quietly  out  of  bed,  and 
walked  up  and  down  the  room.  Wherever  he  moved,  he  beheld, 
by  the  moonlight  through  the  window,  the  dim  dusky  outline 

of  the  dog,  following  wherever  he  went!    Mr  D opened  the 

windows,  he  did  not  exactly  know  why,  and  mounted  the  dress- 
ing-table for  that  purpose.  On  looking  down  before  he  leaped 
on  the  floor,  there  was  the  dog  waiting  for  him,  squatting  com- 
posedly on  his  haunches !     There  was  no  standing  this  any 

longer,  thought  Mr  D ,  delusion  or  no  delusion;  so  he  ran 

to  tlie  bed — plunged  beneath  the  clothes,  and,  thoroughly 
frightened,  dropped  at  length  asleep,  his  head  under  cover  aU 
night !  On  waking  in  the  morning,  he  thought  it  must  have 
been  all  a  dream  about  the  dog,  for  it  had  totally  disappeared 
with  the  daylight.  When  an  hour's  glancing  in  all  directions 
had  convinced  him  that  the  phantom  was  really  no  longer  visi- 
ble, he  told  the  whole  to  Mrs  D ,  and  made  very  merry  with 

her  fears — for  she  would  have  it,  that  it  was  "  something  super- 
natural," and,  good  lady!  "Mr  D ,  might  depend  upon  it, 

the  thing  had  its  errand!"     Four  times  subsequent  to  this  did 

Mr  D see  the  spectral  visitant — nowise  altered  either  in 

its  manner;  form,  or  colour.  It  was  always  late  in  the  evenings 
when  he  observed  it,  and  generally  when  he  was  alone.  He 
was  a  man  extensively  acquainted  with  physiology;  but  felt 
utterly  at  a  loss  to  what  derangement  of  what  part  of  the  animal 
economy  to  refer  it.  So,  indeed,  was  I — for  lie  came  to  con- 
sult me  about  it.  He  was  with  me  once  during  the  presence 
of  the  phantom.  I  examined  his  eyes  with  a  candle,  to  see 
whether  the  interrupted  motions  of  the  irides  indicated  any 
sudden  alteration  of  the  functions  of  the  optic  nerve ;  but  the 
pupils  contracted  and  dilated  with  perfect  regularity.  One 
thing,  however,  was  certain — his  stomach  had  been  latterly  a 
little  out  of  order;  and  every  body  knows  the  intimate  connexion 
between  its  functions  and  the  nervous  system.  But  why  he 
should  see  spectra — why  they  should  assume  and  retain  the 
figure  of  a  dog,  and  of  such  an  uncanine  colour  too — and  why 


136  DIARY  OF  A.  liATE  PHYSICIAN. 

it  should  so  pertinaciously  attach  itself  to  him,  and  be  seen  pre- 
cisely the  same  at  the  various  intervals  after  which  it  made  its 
appearance — and  why  he  should  hear,  or  imagine  he  heard  it 
utter  sounds — all  these  questions  I  am  as  unable  to  answer  as 

Mr  D was,  or  as,  possibly,  the  reader  will  be.     He  may 

account  for  it  in  whatever  way  his  ingenuity  may  enable  him. 
I  have  seen  and  known  other  cases  of  spectra,  not  unlike  the 
one  above  related ;  and  great  alarm  and  horror  have  they  excited 
in  the  breasts  of  persons  blessed  with  less  firmness  and  good 
sense  than  Mr  D displayed. 


A  perusal  of  the  foregoing  narrative  occasioned  its  corrobora- 
tion, by  the  following  account  of  a  similar  spectrum,  seen  by 
one  of  my  scientific  friends.  As  the  reader  will  doubtless  con- 
sider it  interesting,  I  here  subjoin  the  letter  from  my  friend. 

Blackheath,  December,  1830. 

My  dear  Sir, — Though  the  "  Spectral  Dog"  is  somewhat 
laughable,  in  quality  of  tailpiece  to  the  melancholy — the  truly 
sorrowful  narrative  immediately  preceding  it,  I  have  read  it 
with  nearly  equal  interest,  because  it  forcibly  reminds  me  of  a 
similar  incident  in  my  own  life. 

In  my  early  days,  I  was,  as  you  have  often  heard  me  say,  an 
infatuated  searcher  after  the  philosopher's  stone  !  I  then  resided 
near  Bristol,  and  had  a  back  parlour  fitted  up  according  to  my 
fancy,  in  a  very  gloomy  style.  I  soon  filled  it  with  the  ap- 
paratus of  my  craft — crucibles,  furnace,  retorts,  &c.  &c.  &c., 
vrithout  end.  I  never  allowed  the  light  of  day  to  dissipate  the 
mysterious  gloom  which  pervaded  my  laboratory ;  but  had  an 
old  Roman  lamp,  suspended  from  the  ceiling,  kept  continually 
burning,  night  and  day.  I  had  three  different  locks  on  the 
door;  and  took  such  precautions  as  enabled  me  to  satisfy  myself 
that  no  one  ever  entered  the  room  for  nearly  three  years,  except 
a  singular  and  enthusiastic  old  man,  who  first  inspired  me  with 
my  madness,  as  I  may  well  call  it.  You  know  too  well,  my 
dear  sir,  how  much  of  njy  little  fortune  was  frittered  away  iu 


THE  SPECTRAIi  DOG. —  CHAPTER  X.  137 

running  after  that  ridiculous  Will  o'  the  Wisp.     But  to  my 
tule. 

One  Sunday  evening,  after  dining  hastily  at  five  o'clock,  I 
took  my  candle  in  my  hand,  and  hurried  back  to  my  laboratory, 
which  I  had  quitted  only  half  an  hour  before  for  dinner.  On 
unlocking  the  door,  and  entering,  to  my  equal  alarm  and  aston- 
ishment, I  distinctly  saw  the  figure  of  a  little  old  stooping 
woman,  in  a  red  cloak,  and  with  a  very  pale  face.  She  stood 
near  the  fireplace,  and  leaned  with  both  hands  on  a  walking- 
stick.  I  was  nearly  letting  fall  the  candlestick  I  held.  However, 
I  contrived  to  set  it  down  pretty  steadily  on  the  table,  which 
stood  between  my  mysterious  guest  and  me,  and  spoke  to  her. 
I  received  no  answer.  The  figure  did  not  move — nay,  it  did  not 
even  look  at  me.  I  stamped  with  my  foot — I  knocked  my 
knuckles  on  the  table — I  shook  it  with  both  my  hands — I  called 
out  to  the  old  woman — but  in  vain !  A  bottle  of  spirits — brandy, 
if  I  recollect  right — and  a  wine-glass,  stood  on  a  shelf  of  the 
cupboard,  which  was  close  at  my  elbow.  I  poured  out  a  glass- 
ful, and  drank  it.  Still  the  figure  continued  there,  standing 
before  me  as  distinct,  as  motionless  as  ever.  I  began  to  suspect 
it  was  merely  an  ocular  spectrum.  I  rubbed  my  eyes,  I  pushed 
them  inward  with  my  fingers,  till  corruscations  of  light  seemed 
to  flash  from  them.  But  when  I  directed  them  again  towards  the 
spot  where  the  apparition  had  stood,  there  it  still  was !  I  walked 
up  to  her  somewhat  falteringly.  She  stood  exactly  in  the  way  of 
my  arm-chair,  as  though  she  were  on  the  point  of  sitting  down 
upon  it.  I  actually  walked  clean  through  the  figure,  and  sat 
down.  After  a  few  moments,  I  opened  my  eyes,  which  I  had 
closed  on  sitting  down,  and  behold,  the  figure  %iooA  fronting  me, 
about  six  feet  off!  I  rose — it  moved  further  off;  I  lifted  up  my 
right  arm  in  a  threatening  manner — so  did  the  figure ;  I  raised  my 
other  arm — so  did  the  old  woman  ;  I  moved  towards  her — she 
retreated,  all  the  while  never  once  looking  at  me.  She  got 
towards  the  spot  where  I  had  formerly  stood  ;  and  so  the  table 
was  once  more  between  us.  I  got  more  agitated  than  ever ;  but 
when  the  figure  began  to  approach  me  in  a  direct  line,  walking 
apparently  right  through  the  table,  even  as  the  Israelites  through 
the  Red  Sea,  I  quite  lost  my  presence  of  mind.     A  giddiness,  or 


138  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHTSICTAN. 

sickness,  came  over  me,  and,  sinking  into  my  seat,  I  fainted. 
When  I  recovered,  the  spectre  had  disappeared. 

I  have  never  since  seen  it,  nor  any  thing  similar — Such  spectra 
are  by  no  means  rare  among  studious  men,  if  of  an  irritable,  ner- 
vous temperament,  and  an  imaginative  turn.  I  know  a  learned 
baronet  who  has  his  study  sometimes  crowded  with  them ;  and 
he  never  feels  so  much  at  home  as  when  surrounded  by  these 
airy  spirits ! 

You  may  make  any  use  you  like  of  this  letter — I  am,  my 
dear  sir,  ever  faithfully  yours, 

W.  G. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


THE   FORGER. 


A  GKooM,  in  plain  livery,  left  a  card  at  my  house,  one  after- 
noon during  my  absence,  on  which  was  the  name,  "  Mh 
G1.0UCESTBR,    No.  — ,  Regent  Street;"  and,  in  pencil,  the 

words,  "  Will  thank  Dr to  call  this  evening."     As  my  red 

book  was  lying  on  the  table  at  the  time,  I  looked  in  it,  from 
mere  casual  curiosity,  to  see  whether  the  name  of  "  Gloucester" 
appeared  there — but  it  did  not.  I  concluded,  therefore,  that  my 
new  patient  must  be  a  recent  comer.  About  six  o'clock  that 
evening,  I  drove  to  Regent  Street,  sent  in  my  card,  and  was 
presently  ushered  by  the  man-servant  into  a  spacious  apartment, 
somewhat  showily  furnished.  The  mild  retiring  sunlight  of 
a  July  evening  was  diffused  over  the  room  ;  and  ample  crimson 
window-curtains,  half  drawn,  mitigated  the  glare  of  the  gilded 
picture -frames  which  hung  in  great  numbers  round  the  walls. 
There  was  a  large  round  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
covered  with  papers,  magazines,  books,  cards,  &c. ;  and,  in  a 
word,  the  whole  aspect  of  things  indicated  the  residence  of  a 
person  of  some  fashion  and  fortune.  On  a  side-table  lay  several 
pairs  of  boxing-gloves,  foils,  &c.     The  object  of  my  visit,  Mr 


THE  FORGER. CHAPTER  XI.  139 

Gloucester,  was  seated  on  an  elegant  ottoman,  in  a  pensive  pos- 
ture, with  his  head  leaning  on  his  hand,  which  rested  on  the 
table.  He  was  engaged  with  the  newspaper  when  I  was 
announced.  He  rose,  as  I  entered,  politely — I  should  rather  say- 
obsequiously — handed  me  to  a  chair,  and  then  resumed  his  seat 
on  the  ottoman.  His  countenance  was  rather  pleasing,  fresh- 
coloured,  with  regular  features,  and  very  light  auburn  hair,  which 
was  adjusted  with  a  sort  of  careless  fashionable  negligence.  I 
may  perhaps  be  laughed  at  by  some  for  noticing  such  an  appa- 
rently insignificant  circumstance ;  but  the  observant  humour 
of  my  profession  must  suflBciently  account  for  my  detecting 
the  fact  that  his  hands  were  not  those  of  a  lorn  and  bred  gentle- 
man— of  one  who,  as  the  phrase  is,  "  has  never  done  any  thing"  in 
his  life ;  but  they  were  coarse,  large,  and  clumsy-looking.  As 
for  his  demeanour  also,  there  was  a  constrained  and  over- anxious 
display  of  politeness — an  assumption  of  fashionable  ease  andindif- 
ference,  that  sat  ill  on  him,  like  a  court  dress  fastened  on  a  vulgar 
fellow.  He  spoke  with  a  would-be  jaunty,  free-and-easy,  small- 
swagger  sort  of  air,  and  changed  at  times  the  tones  of  his  voice 
to  an  offensive  cringing  softness,  which,  I  daresay,  he  took  to  be 
vastly  insinuating.  All  these  little  circumstances  put  together, 
prepossessed  me  with  a  sudden  feeling  of  dislike  to  the  man. 
These  sort  of  people  are  a  great  nuisance  to  one,  since  there  is 
no  knowing  exactly  how  to  treat  them.  After  some  hurried 
expressions  of  civility,  Mr  Gloucester  informed  me  that  he  had 
sent  for  me  on  account  of  a  deep  depression  of  spirits,  to  which 
he  was  latterly  subject.  He  proceeded  to  detail  many  of  the 
symptoms  of  a  disordered  nervous  system.  He  was  tormented 
with  vague  apprehensions  of  impending  calamity;  could  not 
divest  himself  of  an  unaccountable  trepidation  of  manner,  which, 
by  attracting  observation,  seriously  disconcerted  him  on  many 
occasions  :  felt  incessantly  tempted  to  the  commission  of  suicide; 
loathed  society ;  disrelished  his  former  scenes  of  amusement ; 
had  lost  his  appetite  ;  passed  restless  nights ;  and  was  disturbed 
with  appalling  dreams.  His  pulse,  tongue,  countenance,  &c, 
corroborated  the  above  statement  of  his  symptoms.  I  asked  him 
whether  any  thing  unpleasant  had  occured  in  his  family  ? — 
Nothing  of  the  kind.    Disappointment  in  an  affaire  du  cceur  f 


140  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

— Oh,  no.  Unsuccessful  at  play  ?— By  no  means — he  did  not 
play.  Well — had  he  any  source  of  secret  annoyance  which  could 
account  for  his  present  depression  ?  He  coloured,  seemed 
embarrassed,  and  apparently  hesitating  whether  or  not  he  should 
communicate  to  me  what  weighed  on  his  spirits.  He,  however, 
seemed  determined  to  keep  me  in  ignorance ;  and  with  some 
alteration  of  manner,  said  suddenly,  that  it  was  only  a  constitu- 
tional nervousness — his  family  were  all  so ;  and  he  wished 
to  know  whether  it  was  in  the  power  of  medicine  to  relieve  him. 
I  replied  that  I  would  certainly  do  all  that  lay  in  my  power,  but 
that  he  must  not  expect  any  sudden  or  miraculous  effect  from  the 
medicines  I  might  prescribe  ;  that  I  saw  clearly  he  had  some- 
thing on  his  mind  which  oppressed  his  spirits ;  that  he  ought  to 
go  into  cheerful  society — he  sighed;  seek  change  of  air— that, 
he  said,  was,  under  circumstances,  impossible.  I  rose  to  go. 
He  gave  me  two  guineas,  and  begged  me  to  call  the  next  even- 
ing. I  left,  not  knowing  what  to  make  of  him.  To  tell  the 
plain  truth,  I  began  to  suspect  that  he  was  neither  more  nor  less 
than  a  systematic  London  sharper — a  gamester— a  hanger-on 
about  town — and  that  he  had  sent  for  me  in  consequence  of  some 
of  those  sudden  alternations  of  fortune  to  which  the  lives  of  such 
men  are  subject.  I  was  by  no  means  anxious  for  a  prolonged 
attendance  on  him. 

About  the  same  time  next  evening  I  paid  him  a  second  visit. 
He  was  stretched  on  the  ottoman,  enveloped  in  a  gaudy  dress- 
ing-gown, with  his  arms  folded  on  his  breast,  and  his  right  foot 
hanging  over  the  side  of  the  ottoman,  and  dangling  about,  as  if 
in  search  of  a  stray  slipper.  I  did  not  like  this  elaborately 
careless  and  conceited  posture.  A  decanter  or  two,  with  some 
wine-glasses,  stood  on  the  table.  He  did  not  rise  on  my  enter- 
ing, but,  with  a  languid  air,  begged  me  to  be  seated  in  a  chair 
opposite  to  him.  "  Good-evening,  doctor — good-evening,"  said 
he,  in  a  low  and  hurried  tone  ;  "  I'm  glad  you  are  come  ;  for  if 
you  had  not,  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  I  should  have  done. 
I'm  deucedly  low  to-night." 

"  Have  you  taken  the  medicines  I  prescribed,  Mr  Gloucester  ?  " 
I  enquired,  feeling  his  pulse,  which  fluttered  irregularly,  indica- 
ting a  high  degree  of  nervous  excitement.     He  hud  taken  most 


THE  FORGER. — CHAPTER  XT.  141 

of  tlie  physic  I  had  ordered,  he  said,  but  without  perceiving  any 
effect  from  it.  "  In  fact,  doctor, "  he  continued,  starting  from 
his  recumbent  position  to  his  feet,  and  walking  rapidly  three  or 
four  paces  to  and  fro — "  d — n  me  if  I  know  what's  come  to 
me.  I  feel  as  if  I  could  cut  my  throat."  I  insinuated  some 
questions,  for  the  purpose  of  ascertaining  whether  there  was  any 
hereditary  tendency  to  insanity  in  his  family  ;  but  it  would  not 
do.  "He  saw,"  he  said,  "what  I  was  driving  at,^''  but  I  was 
"  on  a  wrong  scent." 

"  Come,  come,  doctor  !  after  all  there's  nothing  like  loine  for 

low  spirits,  is  there  ?    D e,  doctor,  drink,  drink.    Only  taste 

that  claret ;"  and,  after  pouring  out  a  glass  for  me,  which  ran 
over  the  brim  on  the  table — his  hand  was  so  unsteady — he 
instantly  gulped  down  two  glasses  himself.  There  was  a  vul- 
gar offensive  familiarity  in  his  manner,  from  which  I  felt  inclined 
to  stand  off;  but  I  thought  it  better  to  conceal  my  feelings.  I 
was  removing  my  glove  from  my  right  hand,  and  putting  my 
hat  and  stick  on  the  table,  when,  seeing  a  thin  slip  of  paper 
lying  on  the  spot  where  I  intended  to  place  them — apparently  a 
bill  or  promissory-note — I  was  going  to  hand  it  over  to  Mr 
Gloucester ;  but,  to  my  astonishment,  he  suddenly  sprang 
towards  me,  snatched  from  me  the  paper,  with  an  air  of  ill- 
disguised  alarm,  and  crumpled  it  up  into  his  pocket,  saying 
hurriedly — "Ha,  ha,  doctor! — this  same  little  bit  of  paper — 
didn't  see  the  name,  eh  ?  'Tis  the  bill  of  an  extravagant  young 
friend  of  mine,  whom  I've  just  come  down  a  cool  hundred  or  two 
for;  and  it  wouldn't  be  the  handsome  thing  to  let  his  name  appear 
— ha — you  understand  ?  "  He  stammered  confusedly,  directing 
to  me  as  anxious,  sudden,  and  penetrating  a  glance  as  I  ever 
encountered.  I  felt  excessively  uneasy,  and  inclined  to  take  my 
departure  instantly.  My  suspicions  were  now  confirmed — I  was 
sitting  familiarly  with  a  swindler — a  gambler — and  the  bill  he 
was  so  anxious  to  conceal  was  evidently  wrung  from  one  of  his 
ruined  dupes.  My  demeanour  was  instantly  frozen  over  with 
the  most  distant  and  frigid  civility.  I  begged  him  to  be  reseated, 
and  allow  me  to  put  a  very  few  more  questions  to  him,  as  I  was 
in  great  haste.  I  was  thus  engaged,  when  a  heavy  knock  was 
heard  at  the  outer  door.     Though  there  was  nothing  particular 


142  DIARY  OF  A  lATE  PHYSICIAN. 

in  it,  Mr  Gloucester  started  and  turned  pale.  In  a  few  moments 
I  heard  the  sound  of  altercation — the  door  of  the  room  in  which 
we  sat  was  presently  opened,  and  two  men  entered.  Recollect- 
ing suddenly  a  similar  scene  in  my  own  early  history,  I  felt 
faint.  There  was  no  mistaking  the  character  or  errand  of  the 
two  fellows,  who  now  walked  up  to  where  we  were  sitting  ;  thev 
were  two  sullen  Newgate  myrmidons,  and — gracious  God  ! — had 
a  warrant  to  arrest  Mr  Gloucester  for  roEGEKY !  I  rose  from 
my  chair,  and  staggered  a  few  paces,  I  knew  not  whither.  I 
could  scarcely  preserve  myself  from  falling  on  the  floor.  Mr 
Gloucester,  as  soon  as  he  caught  sight  of  the  officers,  fell  hack 
on  the  ottoman — suddenly  pressed  his  hand  to  his  heart — turned 
pale  as  death,  and  gasped,  breathless  with  horror. 

"  Gentlemen — what — what  do  you  want  here?" 

"Isn't  your  name  E T ?"  asked  the  elder  of  the 

two,  coolly  and  unconcernedly. 

"N — 0 — my  name  is  Glou  —  ces — ter,"  stammered  the 
wretched  young  man,  almost  inaudibly. 

"  Gloucester,  eh? — oh,  ho! — none  of  that  there  sort  of  blarney ! 
Come,  my  kiddy— caged  at  last,  eh?  We've  been  long  arter 
you,  and  now  you  must  be  off  with  us  directly.  Here's  your 
passport,"  said  one  of  the  officers,  pointing  to  the  warrant.  The 
young  man  uttered  a  deep  groan,  and  sank  senseless  on  the 
sofa.  One  of  the  officers,  I  cannot  conceive  how,  was  acquainted 
with  my  person ;  and,  taking  ^off  his  hat,  said,  in  a  respectful 
tone — "  Doctor,  you'll  bring  him  to  his  wits  again,  a'n't  please 
you — we  must]\a.\e  him  off  directly!"  Though  myself  but  a 
trifle  removed  from  the  state  in  which  he  lay  stretched  before 
me,  I  did  what  I  could  to  restore  him,  and  succeeded  at  length. 
I  unbuttoned  his  shirt-collar,  dashed  in  his  face  some  water 
brought  by  his  man-servant,  who  now  stood  looking  on,  shiver- 
ing with  affright — and  endeavoured  to  calm  his  agitation  by 
such  soothing  expressions  as  I  could  command. 

"  Oh,  doctor,  doctor !  what  a  horrid  dream  it  was ! — Are  they 
gone  ? — are  they  ?  "  he  enquired,  without  opening  his  eyes,  and 
clasping  my  hand  in  his,  which  was  cold  as  that  of  a  corpse. 

"  Come,  come — none  of  these  here  tantrums — you  must  o^at 
once — that's  the  long  and  short  of  it,"  said  an  officer  approach- 


THE  FOKGER. CHAPTER  XI.  143 

ing,  and  taking  from  his  coat-pocket  a  pair  of  handcuffs,  at  sight 
of  which,  and  of  a  large  horse-pistol  projecting  from  his  breast- 
pocket, my  very  soul  sickened. 

"  Oh,  doctor,  doctor ! — save  me  !  save  me !  "  groaned  their 
prisoner,  clasping  my  hands  with  convulsive  energj'. 

"  Come— curse  your  cowardly  snivelling! — Why  can't  you 
behave  like  a  man,  now,  eh? — Come! — off  with  this  peacock's 
covering  of  yours — it  was  never  made  for  the  like  of  i/ou,  I'm 
sui-e — and  put  on  a  plain  coat,  and  off  to  cage  like  a  sensible 
bird,"  said  one  of  the  two,  proceeding  to  remove  the  dressing- 
gown  very  roughly. 

"  Oh !  my  God— oh !  my  God — have  mercy  on  me ! — Oh, 
strike  me  dead  at  once ! "  nearly  shrieked  their  prisoner,  falling 
on  his  knees  on  the  floor,  and  glaring  towards  the  ceiling  with 
an  almost  maniac  eye. 

"  1  hope  you'll  not  treat  your  prisoner  with  unnecessary  seve- 
rity," said  I,  seeing  them  disposed  to  be  very  unceremonious. 

"  No — not  by  no  manner  of  means,  if  as  how  he  behaves  him- 
self," replied  one  of  the  men  respectfully.  Mr  Gloucester's 
dressing-gown  was  quickly  removed,  and  his  body-eoat — him- 
self perfectly  passive  the  while — drawn  on  by  his  bewildered 
servant,  assisted  by  one  of  the  oiBcers.  It  was  nearly  a  new 
coat,  cut  in  the  very  extreme  of  the  latest  fashion,  and  contrasted 
strangely  with  the  disordered  and  affrighted  air  of  its  wearer. 
His  servant  placed  his  hat  on  his  head,  and  endeavoured  to  draw 
on  his  gloves — showy  sky-coloured  kid.  He  was  standing  with 
a  stupefied  air,  gazing  vacantly  at  the  officers,  when  he  started 
suddenly  to  the  window,  manifestly  with  the  intention  of  leap- 
ing out. 

"  Ha,  ha!  that's  your  game,  my  lad,  is  it?"  coolly  exclaimed 
one  of  the  officers,  as  he  snatched  him  back  again  with  a  vice- 
like grasp  of  the  collar.  "  Now,  since  that's  the  sport  you're 
for,  why,  you  must  be  content  to  wear  these  little  bracelets  for 
the  rest  of  your  journey.  It's  your  own  seeking,  my  lad ;  for  I 
didn't  mean  to  have  used  them,  if  as  how  you'd  only  behaved 
peaceably ; "  and  in  an  instant  the  young  man's  hands  were  locked 
together  in  the  handcuffs.     It  was  sickening  to  see  the  frantic 


144 


DIARY  OF  A  I.ATE  PHYSICIAN. 


efforts — as  if  he  would  have  severed  his  hands  from  the  wrists- 
he  made  to  burst  the  handcuffs. 

"  Take  me — to  Hell,  if  you  choose ! "  he  gasped,  in  a  hoarse 
hollow  tone,  sinking  into  a  chair  utterly  exhausted,  while  one 
of  the  officers  was  busily  engaged  rummaging  the  drawers, 
desks,  &c.,  in  search  of  papers.  When  he  had  conchided  his 
search,  filled  his  pockets,  and  buttoned  his  coat,  the  two  ap- 
proached, and  told  him  to  rise  and  accompany  them. 

"  Now,  covey!  are  you  for  a  rough  or  a  quiet  passage,  eh?" 
said  one  of  them,  seizing  him  not  very  gently  by  the  collar.  He 
received  no  answer.  The  wretched  prisoner  was  more  dead 
than  alive. 

"  I  hope  you  have  a  hackney-coach  in  waiting,  and  don't 
intend  to  drag  the  young  man  through  the  streets  on  foot?"  I 
enquired. 

"  Why,  true,  true,  doctor — it  might  be  as  well  for  us  all;  but 
who's  to  stump  up  for  it?"  *  replied  one  of  the  officers.  I  gave 
him  five  shillings,  and  the  servant  was  instantly  dispatched  for 
a  hackney-coach.  While  they  were  waiting  its  arrival,  con- 
ceiving I  could  not  be  of  any  use  to  Mr  Gloucester,  and  not 
choosing  to  be  seen  leaving  the  house  with  two  police-officers 
and  a  handcuffed  prisoner,  I  took  my  departure,  and  drove  home 
in  such  a  state  of  agitation  as  I  have  never  experienced  before 
or  since.  The  papers  of  the  next  morning  explained  all.  The 
young  man  "  living  in  Regent  Street,  in  first-rate  style,"  who 
had  summoned  me  to  visit  him,  had  committed  a  series  of  for- 
geries, for  the  last  eighteen  months,  to  a  great  amount,  and  with 
so  much  secrecy  and  dexterity,  as  to  have,  till  then,  escaped  de- 
tection; and  had,  for  the  last  few  months,  been  enjoying  the 
produce  of  his  skilful  villany  in  the  style  I  witnessed,  passing 
himself  off,  in  the  circles  where  he  associated,  under  the  assumed 
name  of  Gloucester.  The  immediate  cause  of  his  arrest  was 
forging  the  acceptance  of  an  eminent  mercantile  house,  to  a 
bill  of  exchange  for  £A5.  Poor  fellow!  it  was  short  work  with 
him   afterwards.     He   was   arraigned   at  the   next  September 

*  "  '  Oui,  c'est  tr^s  bien,*  repondit  le  recors ;  '  mais  qui  bouchera  le  trmt  ? '  " 
says  the  French  translator;  and  adds  in  a  note — "  Ang.  to  stump  up — Terme 
d" Argot  ?  "  (The  forger  is  called  Edward  Werney .') 


THE  FORGER.— CHAPTER  XI.  145 

sessions  of  the  Old  Bailey — the  case  clearly  proved  against  liim 
— he  offered  no  defence — was  found  guilty,  and  sentenced  to 
death.  Shortly  after  this,  while  reading  the  papers  one  Satur- 
day morning  at  breakfast,  my  eye  lit  on  the  usual  gloomy 
annunciation  of  the  Recorder's  visit  to  Windsor,  and  report  to 
the  King  in  Council  of  the  prisoners  found  guilty  at  the  last 
Old  Bailey  Sessions — "  all  of  whom,"  the  paragraph  concluded, 
"  his  Majesty  was  graciously  pleased  to  respite  during  his  royal 

pleasure,  except  E T ,  on  whom  the  law  is  left  to  take 

its  course  next  Tuesday  morning." 

Transient  and  any  thing  but  agreeable  as  had  been  my  intimacy 
with  this  miserable  young  man,  I  could  not  read  this  intelligence 
with  indifference.  He  whom  I  had  so  very  lately  seen  surrounded 
with  the  life-bought  luxuries  of  a  man  of  wealth  and  fashion, 
was  now  shivering  the  few  remaining  hours  of  his  life  in  the 
condemned  cells  of  Newgate  !  The  next  day  (Sunday)  I  enter- 
tained a  party  of  friends  at  my  house  to  dinner;  to  which  I  was 
just  sitting  down  when  one  of  the  servants  put  a  note  into  my 
hand,  of  which  the  following  is  a  copy : — 

"  The  Chaplain  of  Newgate  has  been  earnestly  requested 
by  E T ,  (the  young  man  sentenced  to  suffer  for  for- 
gery next  Tuesday  morning,)  to  present  his  humble  respects  to 

Dr ,  and  solicit  the  favour  of  a  visit  from  him  in  the  course 

of  to-morrow,    (Monday.)     The   unhappy  convict,    Mr   ■ 

believes,  has  something  on  his  mind  which  he  is  anxious  to 
communicate  to  Dr . 

"Newgate,  Sept.  28, 18—. 

I  felt  it  impossible,  after  perusing  this  note,  to  enjoy  the  com- 
pany I  had  invited.  What  on  earth  could  the  culprit  have  to 
say  to  me  ? — what  unreasonable  request  might  he  put  me  to  the 
pain  of  refusing  ? — ought  I  to  see  him  at  all  ?— were  questions 
which  I  incessantly  proposed  to  myself  during  the  evening,  but 
felt  unable  to  answer.  I  resolved,  however,  at  last,  to  aff'ord 
him  the  desired  interview,  and  be  at  the  cell  of  Newgate  in  the 
course  of  the  next  evening,  unless  my  professional  engagements 
prevented  me.  About  six  o'clock  therefore,  on  Monday,  after 
fortifying  myself  with  a  few  extra  glasses  of  wine — for  why 
should  I  hesitate  to  acknowledge  that  I  apprehended  much  dis- 


146  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

tress  and  agitation  from  witnessing  so  unusual  a  scene? — I 
drove  to  the  Old  Bailey,  drew  up  opposite  the  Governor's  house, 
and  was  received  by  him  very  politely.  He  dispatched  a  turn- 
key to  lead  me  to  the  cell  where  my  late  patient,  the  soi-disant 
Mr  Gloucester,  was  immured  in  chilling-  expectancy  of  his  fate. 

Surely  horror  has  appropriated  these  gloomy  regions  for  her 
peculiar  dwelling-place!  Who  that  has  passed  through  them 
once,  can  ever  forget  the  long,  narrow,  lamp-lit  passages — the 
sepulchral  silence,  save  where  the  ear  is  startled  with  the 
clangour  of  iron  doors  closing  harshly  before  and  behind — the 
dimly-seen  spectral  figure  of  the  prison  patrol  gliding  along  with 
loaded  blunderbuss — and  the  chilling  consciousness  of  being  sur- 
rounded by  so  many  fiends  in  human  shape — inhaling  the  foul 
atmosphere  of  all  the  concentrated  misery  ana  guilt  of  the  metro- 
polis! My  heart  leaped  within  me  to  listen  even  to  my  own 
echoing  footfalls  ;  and  I  felt  several  times  inclined  to  return 
without  fulfilling  the  purpose  of  my  visit.  My  vacillation,  how- 
ever, was  abruptly  put  an  end  to  by  my  guide  exclaiming, 
"  Here  we  are,  sir  !  "  While  he  was  unbarring  the  cell  door,  I 
begged  him  to  continue  at  the  outside  during  the  few  moments 
of  my  interview  with  the  convict. 

"  Holloa !    young   man ! — Within   there  !  —  Here's  Dr  

come  to  see  you ! "  said  the  turnkey  hoarsely,  as  he  ushered  me 
in.  The  cell  was  small  and  gloomy  ;  and  a  little  lamp,  lying  on 
the  table,  barely  sufficed  to  show  me  the  person  of  the  culprit, 
and  an  elderly,  respectable-looking  man,  muffled  in  drab  great- 
coat, and  sitting  gazing  in  stupefied  silence  on  the  prisoner. 
Great  God,  it  was  his  Father  !  He  did  not  seem  conscious  of 
my  entrance  ;  but  his  son  rose,  and  feebly  asked  me  how  I  was, 
muttered  a  few  words  of  thanks,  sank  again — apparently  over- 
powered by  his  feelings — into  a  seat,  and  fixed  his  eyes  on  a 
page  of  the  Bible,  which  was  lying  open  before  him.  A  long 
silence  ensued ;  for  none  of  us  seemed  either  able  or  inclined  to 
talk.  I  contemplated  the  two  with  feelings  of  lively  interest. 
How  altered  was  the  young  culprit  before  me,  from  the  gay 
"  Mr  Gloucester,"  whom  I  had  visited  in  Regent  Street!  His 
face  had  now  a  ghastly,  cadaverous  hue ;  his  hair  was  matted 
with  perspiration  over  his  saUow  forehead ;  his  eyes  were  sunk 


THE  FOKGER. CHAPTER  XI.  147 

and  bloodshot,  and  seemed  incapable  of  distinguishing  the  print 
to  which  they  were  directed.  He  was  dressed  in  a  plain  suit  of 
mourning,  and  wore  a  simple  black  stock  round  his  neck.  How 
I  shuddered,  when  I  thought  on  the  rude  hands  which  were  soon 
to  unloose  it !  Beside  him,  on  the  table,  lay  a  white  pocket  hand- 
kerchief, completely  saturated,  either  with  tears,  or  wiping  the 
perspiration  from  his  forehead,  and  a  glass  of  water,  with  which 
he  occasionally  moistened  his  parched  lips.  I  knew  not  whether 
he  was  more  to  be  pitied  than  his  wretched,  heart-broken  father. 
The  latter  seemed  a  worthy,  respectable  person,  (he  was  an 
industrious  tradesman  in  the  country,)  with  a  few  thin  grey  hairs 
scattered  over  his  otherwise  bald  head,  and  sat  with  his  hands 
closed  together,  resting  on  his  knees,  gazing  on  his  doomed  son 
with  a  lack-lustre  eye,  which,  together  with  his  anguish-worn 
features,  told  eloquently  of  his  sufferings  ! 

"  Well,  doctor ! "  exclaimed  the  young  man,  at  length,  closing 
the  Bible,  "  I  have  now  read  that  blessed  chapter  to  the  end  ;  and, 
I  thank  God,  I  think  I  feel  it — But  now,  let  me  thank  you, 
doctor,  for  your  good  and  kind  attention  to  my  request.  I  have 
something  particular  to  say  to  you,  but  it  must  be  in  private," 
he  continued,  looking  significantly  at  his  father,  as  though  he 
wished  him  to  take  the  hint,  and  withdraw  for  a  few  moments. 
Alas!  the  heart-broken  parent  understood  him  not,  but  continued 
with  his  eyes  riveted,  vacantly  as  before. 

"  We  must  be  left  alone  for  a  moment,"  said  the  young  man, 
rising  and  stepping  to  the  door.  He  knocked,  and  when  it  was 
opened,  whispered  the  turnkey  to  remove  his  father  gently,  and 
let  him  wait  outside  for  an  instant  or  two.  The  man  entered 
for  that  purpose,  and  the  prisoner  took  hold  tenderly  of  his 
father's  hand,  and  said,  "  Dear — dear  father !  you  must  leave 
me  for  a  moment,  while  I  speak  in  private  to  this  gentleman  ; " 
at  the  same  time  endeavouring  to  raise  him  from  the  chair. 

"  Oh  !  yes — yes — What  ? — Of  course,"  stammered  the  old 
man,  vfith  a  bewildered  air,  rising;  and  then,  as  it  were  with 
a  sudden  gush  of  full  returning  consciousness,  flung  his  arms 
round  his  son,  folded  him  convulsively  to  his  breast,  and  groaned 
• — "  Oh,  my  son,  my  poor  son ! "  Even  the  iron  visage  of  the  turn- 
key seemed  darkened  with  a  transient  emotion  at  this  heart- 


14S  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

breaking  scene.  The  next  moment  we  were  left  alone ;  but  it  was 
some  time  before  the  culprit  recovered  from  the  agitation  occa- 
sioned by  the  sudden  ebullition  of  his  father's  feelings. 

"  Doctor,  "  he  gasped  at  length,  "  we've  but  a  few — very  few 
moments,  and  I  have  much  to  say.  God  Almighty  bless  you," 
squeezing  my  hands  convulsively,  "  for  this  kindness  to  a  guilty 
unworthy  wretch  like  me  ;  and  the  business  I  wanted  to  see  you 
about  is  sad,  but  short.  I  have  heard  so  much  of  your  goodness, 
doctor,  that  I'm  sure  you  won't  deny  me  the  only  favour  I  shall 
ask. " 

"  Whatever  is  reasonable  and  proper,  if  it  lie  in  my  way,  I 
shall  certainly" — said  I,  anxiously  waiting  to  see  the  nature  of 
the  communication  he  seemed  to  have  to  make  to  me. 

"  Thank  you,  doctor  ;  thank  you.  It  is  only  this — in  a  word 
— guilty  wretch  that  I  am! — I  have" — he  trembled  violently — 
"  seduced  a  lovely,  but  poor  girl ! — God  forgive  me ! — And— 
and — she  is  now — nearly  on  the  verge  of  her  confinement!  "  He 
suddenly  covered  his  face  with  his  handkerchief,  and  sobbed 
bitterly  for  some  moments.  Presently  he  resumed — "  Alas  !  she 
knows  me  not  by  my  real  name ;  so  that  when  she  reads  the 
account  of — of — my  execution  in  the  papers  of  Wednesday- 
she  won't  know  it  is  her  Edward !  Nor  does  she  know  me  by 
the  name  I  bore  in  Regent  Street.  She  is  not  at  all  acquainted 
with  my  frightful  situation;  but  she  must  be,  when  all  is  over! 
Now,  dear,  kind  good  doctor, "  he  continued,  shaking  from 
head  to  foot,  and  grasping  my  hand,  "  do,  for  the  love  of 
God,  and  the  peace  of  my  dying  moments,  promise  me  that  you 

will  see  her  (she  lives  at  • )  ;  visit  her  in  her  confinement, 

and  gradually  break  the  news  of  my  death  to  her,  and  say  my 
last  prayers  will  be  for  her,  and  that  my  Maker  may  forgive  me  for 
her  ruin.  You  will  find  in  this  little  bag  a  sum  of  thirty  pounds, 
'  — the  last  I  have  on  earth.  I  beg  you  will  take  five  guineas 
for  your  own  fee,  and  give  the  rest  to  my  precious — my  ruined 
Mary!"  He  fell  down  on  his  knees,  and  folded  his  arms  round 
mine,  in  a  supplicating  attitude.  My  tears  fell  on  him,  as  he 
looked  up  at  me.  "  Oh,  God  be  thanked  for  these  blessed  tears ! 
— they-  assure  me  you  will  do  what  I  ask — may  I  believe  you 
wiU?" 


THE  rORGEE.— CHAPTER  XI  149 

"  Yes — yes — yes,  young  man,"  I  replied,  with  a  quivering 
lip;  "it  is  a  painful  task;  but  I  will  do  it — give  her  the  money, 
and  add  ten  pounds  to  the  thirty,  should  it  be  necessary." 

"  Oh,  doctor,  depend  on  it,  God  will  bless  you  and  yours  for 
ever,  for  this  noble  conduct! — And  now,  I  have  one  thing  more 
to  ask — yes — one  thing" — he  seemed  choked — "  Doctor,  your 
skill  will  enable  you  to  inform  me — I  wished  to  know — is — the 
death  I  must  die  to-morrow" — he  put  his  hand  to  his  neck,  and, 
shaking  like  an  aspen  leaf,  sank  down  again  into  the  chair  from 

which  he  had  risen— "is  hanging — a  painful — a  tedious" 

He  could  utter  no  more,  nor  could  I  answer  him. 

"  Do  not,"  I  replied,  after  a  pause,  "  do  not  put  me  to  the 
torture  of  listening  to  questions  like  these.  Pray  to  your  merci- 
ful God;  and,  rely  on  it,  no  one  ever  prayed  sincerely  in  vain. 
The  thief  on  the  cross" — 1  faltered;  then  feeling  that,  if  I  con- 
tinued in  the  cell  a  moment  longer,  I  should  faint,  I  rose  and 
shook  the  young  man's  cold  hands;  he  could  not  speak,  but 
sobbed  and  gasped  convulsively — and  in  a  few  moments  I  was 
driving  home.  As  soon  as  I  was  seated  in  my  carriage,  I  could 
restrain  my  feelings  no  longer,  but  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears. 
I  prayed  to  God  I  might  never  be  called  to  pass  through  such 
a  bitter  and  afflicting  scene  again,  to  the  latest  hour  I  breathed ! 
I  ought  to  have  visited  several  patients  that  evening;  but,  find- 
ing myself  utterly  unfit,  I  sent  apologies  and  went  home.  My 
sleep  in  the  night  was  troubled ;  the  distorted  image  of  the  con- 
vict I  had  been  visiting,  flitted  in  horrible  shapes  round  my  bed 
all  night  long.  An  irresistible  and  most  morbid  restlessness 
and  curiosity  took  possesssion  of  me,  to  witness  the  end  of  this 
young  man.  The  first  time  the  idea  presented  itself,  it  sickened 
me ;  I  revolted  from  it.  How  my  feelings  changed,  I  know  not; 
but  I  rose  at  seven  o'clock,  and,  vrithout  hinting  it  to  any  one, 
put  on  a  great-coat,  slouched  my  hat  over  my  eyes,  and  directed 
my  hurried  steps  towards  the  Old  Bailey.  I  got  into  one  of  the 
houses  immediately  opposite  the  gloomy  gallows,  and  took  my 
station,  with  several  other  visiters,  at  the  window.  They  were 
conversing  on  the  subject  of  the  execution,  and  unanimously 
execrated  the  sanguinary  severity  of  the  laws  which  could 
deprive  a  young  man,  such  as  they  said  E T was,  of 


150  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

his  life,  for  an  offence  of  merely  civil  criminality.  Of  course,  I 
did  not  speak.  It  was  a  wretched  morning;  a  drizzling  shower 
fell  incessantly.  The  crowd  was  not  great,  but  conducted 
themselves  most  indecorously.  Even  the  female  portion — by 
far  the  greater — occasionally  vociferated  joyously  and  boister- 
ously, as  they  recognized  their  acquaintance  among  the  crowd. 
At  length,  St  Sepulchre's  bell  tolled  the  hour  of  eight — gloomy 
herald  of  many  a  sinner's  entrance  into  eternity;  and  as  the  last 
chimes  died  away  on  the  ear,  and  were  succeeded  by  the  muffled 
tolling  of  the  prison-bell,  which  I  could  hear  with  agonizing 
distinctness,  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  glistening  gold-tipped 
wands  of  the  two  under-sheriffs,  as  they  took  their  station  under 
the  shed  at  the  foot  of  the  gallows.  In  a  few  moments,  the 
Ordinary,  and  another  grey-haired  gentleman,  made  their  ap- 
pearance ;  and  between  them  was  the  unfortunate  criminal.  He 
ascended  the  steps  with  considerable  firmness.  His  arms  were 
pinioned  before  and  behind ;  and,  when  he  stood  on  the  gallows, 
I  could  hear  the  exclamations  of  the  crowd — "  Lord,  Lord ! 
what  a  fine  young  man !  Poor  fellow ! "  He  was  dressed  in  a 
suit  of  respectable  mourning,  and  wore  black  kid  gloves.  His 
light  hair  had  evidently  been  adjusted  with  some  care,  and  fell 
in  loose  curls  over  each  side  of  his  temples.  His  countenance 
was  much  as  I  saw  it  on  the  preceding  evening — fearfuDy  pale ; 
and  his  demeanour  was  much  more  composed  than  I  had  ex- 
pected, from  what  I  had  witnessed  of  his  agitation  in  the  con- 
demned cell.  He  bowed  twice  very  low,  and  rather  formally,  to 
the  crowd  around — gave  a  sudden  and  ghastly  glance  at  the 
beam  over  his  head,  from  which  the  rope  was  suspended,  and 
then  suffered  the  executioner  to  place  him  on  the  precise  spot 
which  he  was  to  occupy,  and  prepare  him  for  death.  I  was 
shocked  at  the  air  of  sullen,  brutal  indifference,  with  which  the 
hangman  loosed  and  removed  his  neckerchief,  which  was  white, 
and  tied  with  neatness  and  precision — dropped  the  accursed 
noose  over  his  head,  and  adjusted  it  round  the  bare — the  creep- 
ing neck — and  could  stand  it  no  longer.  I  staggered  from  my 
place  at  the  window  to  a  distant  part  of  the  room,  dropped  into 
a  chair,  shut  my  eyes,  closed  my  tingling  ears  with  my  fingers, 
and,  with   a  hurried  aspiration  for  God's  mercy  towards  the 


A  MAN  ABOUT  TOWN. CHAPTER  XII.  151 

wretched  young  criminal,  who,  within  a  very  few  yards  of  me, 
was  perhaps  that  instant  surrendering  his  life  into  the  hands 
which  gave  it,  continued  motionless  for  some  minutes,  till  the 
noise  made  hy  the  persons  at  the  window,  in  leaving,  convinced 
me  all  was  over.  I  rose  and  followed  them  down  stairs;  worked 
my  way  through  the  crowd,  without  daring  to  elevate  my  eyes 
lest  they  should  encounter  the  suspended  corpse;  threw  myself 
into  a  coach,  and  hurried  home.  I  did  not  recover  the  agita- 
tion produced  by  this  scene  for  several  days. — This  was  the  end 
of  a  Forger  ! 

In  conclusion,  I  may  just  inform  the  reader,  that  I  faithfully 
executed  the  commission  with  which  he  had  entrusted  me,  and 
a  bitter,  heart-rending  business  it  was ! 


CHAPTER  XII. 


A  MAN    ABODT   TOWN. 


[The  London  Medical  Gazette  having,  in  somewhat  uncourtly 
terms,  preferred  an  accusation  of  plagiarism  against  the  original 
writer  of  this  Diary — with  reference  to  tlie  citation  (in  the  case 
"Intriguing  and  Madness")  of  the  passage  from  Shakspeare, 
affirming  memory  to  be  the  test  of  madness,  ("  Bring  me  to  the 
test, "  &c.) — asserting,  in  downright  terms,  that  the  illustration 
in  question  was  "  borrowed,  without  scruple  or  acknowledg- 
ment, from  Sir  Henry  Halford" — and  was  "  truly  a  little  too 
barefaced  ; " — the  Editor  of  these  Passages  simply  assures  the 
reader,  that,  from  circumstances,  this  is  impossible;  and  the 
reader  would  know  it  to  be  so,  could  these  circumstances  be 
communicated  consistently  with  the  Editor's  present  purposes. 
And  further,  the  Editor  immediately  wrote  to  Sir  Henry  Halford, 
disproving  the  truth  of  the  assertion  in  the  Medical  Gazette,  and 
has  received  a  note  from  Sir  Henry,  stating  his  "  perfect  satisfac- 
tion" with  the  explanation  given.  The  other  allegations  con- 
tained in  the  article  in  question  are  not  such  as  to  require  an  answer. 

London,  November  ]2,  1830.] 


152  DIART  OF  A  LATE  PHYSIClAtf. 


I  HATE  humbug,  and  would  eschew  that  cant  and  fanaticism 
•which  are  at  present  tainting  extensive  portions  of  society,  as 
sincerely  as  I  venerate  and  wish  to  cultivate  a  spirit  of  sober, 
manly,  and  rational  piety.  It  is  not,  therefore,  to  pander  to  the 
morbid  tastes  of  overweening  saintliness,  to  encourage  its  arro- 
gant assumptions,  sanction  its  hateful,  selfish  exclusiveness,  or 
advocate  that  spirit  of  sour,  diseased,  puritanical  seclusion  from 
the  innocent  gayeties  and  enjoyments  of  life,  which  has  more 
deeply  injured  the  interests  of  religion  than  any  of  its  professed 
enemies ;  it  is  not,  I  repeat,  with  any  such  unworthy  objects  as 
these,  that  this  melancholy  narrative  is  placed  on  record.  But 
it  is  to  show,  if  it  ever  meet  their  eyes,  "your  men  about  town," 
as  the  elite  of  the  raliish  fools  and  flutterers  of  the  day  are  signifi- 
cantly termed,  that  some  portions  of  the  page  of  profligacy  are 
black — black  with  horror,  and  steeped  in  the  tears — the  blood, 
of  anguish  and  remorse,  wrung  from  ruined  thousands ! — That 
often  the  "iron  is  entering  the  very  soul"  of  those  who  present 
to  the  world's  eye  an  exterior  of  glaring  gayety  and  recklessness 
— that  gilded  guilt  must,  one  day,  be  stripped  of  its  tinselry,  and 
flung  into  the  haze  and  gloom  of  outer  darkness  :  these  are  the 
only  objects  for  which  this  black  passage  is  laid  before  the  reader ; 
in  which  I  have  undertaken  to  describe  pains  and  agonies  which 
these  e5'es  have  witnessed,  and  that  with  all  the  true  frightful- 
ness  of  reality.  It  has,  indeed,  cost  me  feelings  of  little  less  than 
torture  to  retrace  the  leading  features  of  the  scenes  with  which 
the  narrative  concludes. 


"  Hit  him — pitch  it  into  him !  Go  it,  boys — go  it !  Right  into 
your  man,  each  of  you,  like  good  'uns  ! — Top  sawyers,  these ! — 
Hurra !  Tap  his  claret  cask — draw  his  cork  ! — Go  it — go  it — 
beat  him,  big  one  ! — lick  him,  little  one  !  Hurra ! — Slash,  smash 
• — fib  away — right  and  left ! — Hollo ! — Clear  the  way  there  ! — 
Ring!  ring ! " 

These,  and  many  similar  exclamations,  may  serve  to  bring 
before  the  reader  one  of  those  ordinary  scenes  in  London — a 
street  row  ;  arising,  too,  out  of  circumstances  of  equally  frequent 
recurrence.    A  gentleman  (!)  prowling  about  Piccadillv,  towards 


A  MAN   ABOUT  TOWN. CHAPTER  XII.  1-53 

nightfall,  in  the  month  of  November,  in  quest  of  adventures  of 
a  certain  description,  had  been  offering  some  impertinence  to 
a  female  of  respectable  appearance,  whom  he  had  been  following 
for  some  minutes.  He  was  in  the  act  of  putting  his  arm  round 
her  waist,  or  taking  some  similar  liberty,  when  he  was  suddenly 
seized  by  the  collar  from  behind,  and  jerked  off  the  pavement 
so  violently,  that  he  fell  nearly  at  full  length  in  the  gutter. 
This  feat  was  performed  by  the  woman's  husband,  who  had  that 
moment  rejoined  her,  having  quitted  her  only  a  very  short  time 
before,  to  leave  a  message  at  one  of  the  coach-offices,  while  she 
walked  on,  being  in  haste.  No  man  of  ordinary  spirit  could 
endure  such  rough  handling  tamely.  The  instant,  therefore, 
that  the  prostrate  man  had  recovered  his  footing,  he  sprang 
towards  his  assailant,  and  struck  him  furiously  over  the  face 
with  his  umbrella.  For  a  moment  the  man  seemed  disinclined 
to  return  the  blow,  owing  to  the  passionate  dissuasions  of  his 
wife  ;  but  it  was  useless — his  English  blood  began  to  boil  under 
the  idea  of  submitting  to  a  blow,  and  hurriedly  exclaiming, 
"  Wait  a  moment,  sir, " — he  pushed  his  wife  into  the  shop 
adjoining,  telling  her  to  stay  till  he  returned.    A  small  crowd 

stood  round.     "  Now,  by  !  sir,  we  shall  see  which  is  the 

better  man!  "  said  he,  again  making  his  appearance,  and  putting 
himself  in  a  boxing  attitude.  There  was  much  disparity  between 
the  destined  combatants,  in  point  both  of  skill  and  size.  The 
man  last  named  was  short  in  stature,  but  of  a  square  iron  build ; 
and  it  needed  only  a  glance  at  his  posture  to  see  he  was  a  scien- 
tific, perhaps  a  thorough-bred,  bruiser.  His  antagonist,  on  the 
contrary,  was  a  tall,  handsome,  well-proportioned,  gentlemanly 
man,  apparently  not  more  than  twenty-eight  or  thirty  years  old. 
Giving  his  umbrella  into  the  hands  of  a  bystander,  and  hurriedly 
drawing  off  his  gloves,  he  addressed  himself  to  the  encounter 
with  an  unguarded  impetuosity,  which  left  him  wholly  at  the 
mercy  of  his  cool  and  practised  opponent. 

The  latter  seemed  evidently  inclined  to  play  a  while  with  his 
man,  and  contented  himself  with  stopping  several  heavily  dealt 
blows,  with  so  much  quickness  and  precision,  that  every  one 
saw  "  the  big  one  had  caught  a  Tartar  "  in  the  man  he  had  pro- 
voked.    Watching  his  opportunity,  like  a  tiger  crouching  noise- 


15-4  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHTSICIAW. 

lessly  in  preparation  for  the  fatal  spring,  tiie  short  man  delivered 
such  a  slaughtering  left-handed  hit  full  in  the  face  of  his  tall 
adversary,  accompanied  by  a  tremendous  "  doubling-up"  body- 
blow,  as  in  an  instant  brought  him  senseless  to  the  ground.  He 
who  now  lay  stunned  and  blood-smeared  on  the  pavement,  sur- 
rounded by  a  rabble,  jeering  the  fallen  "  swell,"  and  exulting  at 
seeing  the  punishment  he  had  received  for  his  impertinence, 
was,  as  the  conqueror  pithily  told  them,  standing  over  his  pros- 
trate foe,  the  Honourable  St  John  Henry  Efflngstone,  presump- 
tive heir  to  a  marquisate;  and  the  victor,  who  walked  coolly 
away  as  if  nothing  had  happened,  was  Tom ,  the  prize- 
fighter. 

Such  was  the  occasion  of  my  first  introduction  to  Mr  Effing- 
stone  ;  for  I  was  driving  by  at  the  time  this  occurrence  took 
place— and  my  coachman,  seeing  the  crowd,  slackened  the  pace 
of  his  horses,  and  I  desired  him  to  stop.  Hearing  some  voices 
cry,  "  Take  him  to  a  doctor,"  I  let  myself  out,  announced  my 
profession,  and,  seeing  a  man  of  very  gentlemanly  and  superior 
appearance  covered  with  blood,  and  propped  against  the  knee 
of  one  of  the  people  round,  I  had  him  brought  into  my  carriage, 
saying  I  would  drive  him  to  his  residence  close  by,  which  his 

card  showed  me  was  in Street.     Though  much  disfigured, 

and  in  great  pain,  he  had  not  received  any  injury  likely  to  be 
attended  with  danger.  He  soon  recovered;  but  an  infinitely 
greater  annoyance  remained  after  all  the  other  symptoms  had 
disappeared — his  left  eye  was  sent  into  deep  mourning,  which 
threatened  to  last  for  some  weeks ;  and  could  any  thing  be  more 
vexatious  to  a  gay  man  about  town  ?  for  such  was  Mr  Effing- 
stone — but  no  ordinary  one. 

He  did  not  belong  to  that  crowded  class  of  essenced  fops,  of 
silly  coxcombs,  hung  in  gold  chains,  and  bespangled  with  a 
profusion  of  rings,  brooches,  pins,  and  quizzing-glasses,  who 
are  to  be  seen,  in  fine  weather,  glistening  about  town  like  fire- 
flies in  India.  He  was  no  walking  advertisement  of  the  superior 
articles  of  his  tailor,  mercer,  and  jeweller.  No — Mr  Effingstone 
was  really  a  man  about  town,  and  yet  no  puppy.  He  was  worse 
■ — an  abandoned  profligate,  a  systematic  debauchee,  an  irreclaim- 
able reprobate.     He  stood  pre-eminent  amidst  the  throng  of  men 


A  MAN  ABOUT  TOWN. — CHAPTER  XII.  155 

of  fashion — a  glaring  tower  of  guilt,  such  as  Milton  represents 
Satan, 

In  shape  and  gesture  proudly  eminent, 

among  his  gloomy  battalions  of  fallen  spirits.  He  had  nothing 
in  common  with  the  set  of  men  I  have  been  alluding  to,  but 
that  he  chose  to  drink  deeper  from  the  same  foul  and  madden- 
ing cup  of  dissipation.  Their  minor  fooleries  and  "  naughti- 
ness," as  he  termed  them,  he  despised.  Had  he  not  neglected  a 
legitimate  exercise  of  his  transcendent  talents,  he  might  have 
become,  with  little  effort,  one  of  the  first  men  of  his  age.  As 
for  knowledge,  his  powers  of  acquisition  seemed  unbounded. 
Whatever  he  read  he  made  his  own;  good  or  bad,  he  never 
forgot  it.  He  was  equally  intimate  with  ancient  and  modern 
scholarship.  His  knowledge  of  the  varieties  and  distinctions 
between  the  ancient  sects  of  philosophers  was  more  minutely 
accurate,  and  more  successfully  brought  to  bear  upon  the  modern, 
than  I  am  aware  of  having  ever  known  in  another.  Few,  very 
few,  that  I  hav<s  been  acquainted  with,  could  make  a  more  im- 
posing and  effective  display  of  the  "  dazzling  fence  of  logic." 
Fallacies,  though  never  so  subtle,  so  exquisitely  vraisemblant — 
so  "twin-formed  to  truth" — and  calculated  to  evade  the  very 
ghost  of  Aristotle  himself,  melted  away  instantaneously  before 
the  first  glance  of  his  eye.  His  powers  were  acknowledged  and 
feared  by  all  who  knew  him — as  many  a  discomfited  sciolist  now 
living  can  bear  testimony.  His  acuteness  of  perception  was  not 
less  remarkable.  He  anticipated  all  you  meant  to  convey,  before 
you  had  uttered  more  than  a  word  or  two.  It  was  useless  to 
kick  or  wince  under  such  treatment — to  find  your  own  words 
thrust  back  again  down  your  own  throat  as  useless,  than  which 
few  things  are  more  provoking  to  men  with  the  slightest  spice  of 
petulance.  A  conviction  of  his  overwhelming  power  kept  you 
passive  beneath  his  grasp.  He  had,  as  it  were,  extracted  and 
devoured  the  kernel,  while  you  were  attempting  to  decide  on 
the  best  method  of  breaking  the  shell.  His  wit  was  radiant, 
and,  fed  by  a  fancy  both  lively  and  powerful,  it  flashed  and 
sparkled  on  all  sides  of  you,  like  lightning.  He  had  a  strong 
bent  towards  sarcasm,  and  that  of  the  bitterest  and  fiercest  kind. 


156  DIARY  OF   A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

If  you  chanced  unexpectedly  to  become  its  subject,  you  sneaked 
away  consciously  seared  to  your  very  centre.  If,  however,  you 
really  wished  to  acquire  information  from  him,  no  one  was 
readier  to  open  the  storehouses  of  his  learning.  You  had 
but  to  start  a  topic  requiring  elucidation  of  any  kind,  and  pre- 
sently you  saw,  grouped  around  it,  numerous,  appropriate,  and 
beautiful  illustrations,  from  almost  every  region  of  knowledge. 
But  then  you  could  scared}'  fail  to  observe  the  spirit  of  pride  and 
ostentation  which  pervaded  the  whole.  If  he  failed  any  where — 
and  who  livingis equally  excellent  in  all  things  ? — it  was  in  physics. 
Yes,  here  he  was  foiled.  He  lacked  the  patience,  perseverance, 
and  almost  exclusive  attention,  which  the  cold  and  haughty 
goddess  presiding  over  them  invariably  exacts  from  her  suitors. 
Still,  however,  he  had  that  showy  general  intimacy  with  its  out- 
lines, and  some  of  its  leading  features,  which  earned  him  greater 
applause  than  was  doled  out  reluctantly  and  suspiciously  to  the 
profoundest  masters  of  science. 

Yet  Mr  Effingstone,  though  such  as  I  have  described  him, 
gained  no  distinctions  at  Oxford ;  and  why  ?  because  he  knew 
that  all  acknowledged  his  intellectual  supremacy :  that  he  had 
but  to  extend  his  foot,  and  stand  on  the  proudest  pedestal  of 
academical  eminence.  This  satisfied  him.  And  another  reason 
for  his  conduct  once  slipped  out  in  the  course  of  my  intimacy 
with  him :  His  overweening,  I  may  say  almost  unparalleled 
pride,  could  not  brook  the  idea  of  the  remotest  chance  oi  failure ! 
The  same  thing  accounted  for  another  manifestation  of  his  pecu- 
liar character :  No  one  could  conceive  how,  when,  or  where,  he 
came  by  his  wonderful  knowledge.  He  never  seemed  to  be  doing 
any  thing ;  no  one  ever  saw  him  reading  or  writing,  and  yet  he 
came  into  society  au  fait  at  almost  every  thing  !  All  this  was 
attributable  to  his  pride,  or,  I  should  say,  more  correctly,  his 
vanity.  "  Results,  not  processes,  are  for  the  public  eye,  "  he  was 
fond  of  saying.  In  plain  English,  he  would  shine  before  men, 
but  would  not  that  they  should  know  the  pains  and  expense  with 
which  his  lamp  was  fed.  And  this  highly  gifted  individual  it 
was  who  chose  to  track  the  waters  of  dissipation,  to  career  among 
the  sunk  rocks,  shoals,  and  quicksands,  even  till  he  sank  and 
perished  in  them !  By  some  strange  omission  in  his  moral  con- 


A  MAN  ABOCT  TOWN.— CHAPTER  XII.  157 

formation,  his  soul  seemed  utterly  destitute  of  any  sympathies  for 
virtue ;  and  whenever  I  loolced  at  him,  it  was  with  feelings  of 
concern,  alarm,  and  wonder,  akin  to  those  with  which  one  might 
contemplate  tlie  frightful  creature  brought  into  being  by  Frank- 
enstein. Mr  Effingstone  seemed  either  wholly  incapable  of 
appreciating  moral  excellence,  or  wilfully  contemptuous  of  it. 
While  reflecting  carefully  on  his  ihtoavyx.^a.aioc,  which  several 
years'  intimacy  gave  me  many  opportunities  of  doing,  and 
endeavouring  to  account  for  his  fixed  inclination  towards  vice, 
and  that  in  its  most  revolting  form  and  most  frantic  excesses,  at  a 
time  when  he  was  consciously  possessed  of  such  capabilities  of 
excellence  of  every  description^ — it  has  struck  me  that  a  little 
incident,  which  came  to  my  knowledge  casually,  afforded  a  clue 
to  the  whole — a  key  to  his  character.  He  one  day  chanced  to 
overhear  a  distinguished  friend  of  his  father's  lamenting  that  a 
man  "  of  Mr  St  John's  vast  powers"  could  prostitute  them  in 
the  manner  he  did  ;  and  the  reply  made  by  his  father  was,  with 
a  sigh,  that  "  St  John  was  a  splendid  sinner,  and  he  knew  it." 
From  that  hour,  the  keystone  was  fixed  in  the  arch  of  his 
unalterable,  irreclaimable  depravity.  He  felt  a  satanic  satisfac- 
tion in  the  consciousness  of  being  an  object  of  regret  and  wonder 
among  those  who  most  enthusiastically  acknowledged  his  intel- 
lectual supremacy.  How  infinitely  less  stimulating  to  his  morbid 
sensibilities  would  be  the  placid  approvals  of  virtue — a  common- 
place acquiescence  in  the  ordinary  notions  of  virtue  and  religion  ! 
He  wished  rather  to  stand  out  from  the  multitude — to  be  severed 
from  the  herd.  "  Better  to  reign  in  hell  than  serve  in  heaven," 
he  thought,  and  he  was  not  long  in  sinking  many  fathoms  lower 
into  the  abyss  of  athiesm.  In  fact,  he  never  pretended  to  the 
possession  of  religious  principle ;  he  had  acquiesced  in  the 
reputed  truths  of  Christianity  like  his  neighbours  ;  or,  at  least, 
kept  doubts  to  himself,  till  he  fancied  his  reputation  required 
him  to  join  the  crew  of  fools  who  blazon  their  unbelief.  This 
was  "  damned ^ne." 

Conceive,  now,  such  a  man  as  I  have  truly,  but  perhaps 
imperfectly,  described  Mr  Effingstone — in  the  possession  of 
X3000  a-year — perfectly  his  own  master — with  a  fine  person  and 
most  fascinating  manners — capable  of  acquiring  with  ease  every 


158  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  FHYSICIAN. 

fashionable  accomplislmient — the  idol,  the  dictator  of  all  he  met 
— and  with  a  dazzling  circle  of  friends  and  relatives ;  conceive, 
for  a  moment,  such  a  man  as  this  let  loose  upon  town !  Will  it 
occasion  wonder,  if  the  reader  is  told  how  soon  nocturnal  studies, 
and  the  ambition  of  retaining  his  intellectual  character,  which 
prompted  them,  were  supplanted  by  a  blind,  absorbing,  reckless 
devotion — for  he  was  incapable  of  any  thing  but  in  extremes — 
to  the  gaming-table,  the  turf,  the  cockpit,  the  ring,  the  theatres, 
and  daily  and  nightly  attendance  on  those  haunts  of  detestable 
debauchery,  which  I  cannot  foul  my  pen  with  naming  ? — that  a 
two  or  three  years'  intimacy  with  such  scenes  as  these,  had  con- 
duced, in  the  first  instance,  to  shed  a  haze  of  indistinctness  over 
the  multifarious  acquirements  of  his  earlier  and  better  days,  and 
finally  to  blot  out  large  portions  with  blank  oblivion  ? — that  his 
soul's  sun  shone  in  dim  discoloured  rays  through  the  fogs — the 
vault- vapours  of  profligacy? — that  prolonged  desuetude  was 
gradually,  though  unheededly,  benumbing  and  palsying  his 
intellectual  faculties  ? — that  a  constant  "  feeding  on  garbage" 
had  vitiated  and  depraved  his  whole  system,  both  physical  and 
mental  ? — and  that,  to  conclude,  there  was  a  lamentable,  and 
almost  incredible  contrast  between  the  glorious  being,  Mr  Effing- 
stone,  at  twenty-one,  and  that  poor  faded  creature,  that  prema- 
turely superannuated  debauchee,  Mr  Effingstone,  at  twenty- 
seven  ? 

I  feel  persuaded  I  shall  not  be  accused  of  travelling  out  of  the 
legitimate  sphere  of  these  "  Passages" — of  forsaking  the  tract 
of  professional  detail — in  having  thus  attempted  to  give  the 
reader  some  faint  idea  of  the  intellectual  character  of  one  of  the 
most  extraordinary  young  men  that  have  ever  flashed,  meteor- 
like, across  the  sphere  of  my  own  observation.  Not  that,  in  the 
ensuing  pages,  it  will  be  in  my  power  to  exhibit  him  such  as  he 
has  been  described,  doing  and  uttering  things  worthy  of  his 
great  powers.  Alas!  alas!  he  was  "fallen,  fallen,  fallen"  from 
that  altitude  long  before  it  became  my  province  to  know  him 
professionally.  His  decline  and  fall  are  alone  what  remain  for 
me  to  describe.  I  am  painting  from  the  life,  and  those  are 
living  who  know  it — that  I  am  describing  the  character  and 
career  of  him  who  once  lived,  but  who  deliberately  immolated 


A  MAN  ABOUT  TOWN. CHAPTER  XII.  159 

himself  before  the  shrine  of  debauchery — and  they  can,  with  a 
quaking  heart,  attest  the  truth  of  the  few  bitter  and  black  pas- 
sages of  his  remaining  liistory,  which  here  follow. 

The  reader  is  acquainted  with  the  circumstances  attending 
my  first  professional  acquaintance  with  Mr  Etfingstone.  Those 
of  the  second  are  in  perfect  keeping.  He  had  been  prosecuting 
an  enterprize  of  seduction,  the  interest  of  which  was,  in  his  eyes, 
enhanced  a  thousand-fold,  on  discovering  that  the  object  of  his 
illicit  attentions  was  married.  She  was,  I  understood,  a  very 
handsome,  fashionable  woman ;  and  she  fell — for  Mr  Efnngstone 
was  irresistible  !  He  was  attending  one  of  their  assignations  one 
night,  which  she  was  unexpectedly  unable  to  keep;  and  he 
waited  so  long  at  the  place  of  meeting,  but  slightly  clad,  in  the 
cold  and  inclement  weather,  that  when  he  returned  home  at  an 
early  hour  in  the  morning,  intensely  chagrined,  he  began  to  feel 
ill.  He  could  not  rise  to  breakfast.  He  grew  rapidly  worse ; 
and  when  I  was  summoned  to  his  bedside,  he  exhibited  all  the 
symptoms  of  a  very  severe  inflammation  of  the  lungs.  One  or 
two  concurrent  causes  of  excitement  and  chagrin  aggravated  his 
illness.  He  had  been  very  unfortunate  in  betting  on  the  Derby; 
and  was  threatened  with  an  arrest  from  his  tailor,  to  whom  he 
owed  some  hundreds  of  pounds,  which  he  could  not  possibly 
pay.  Again — a  wealthy  remote  member  of  the  family,  his  god- 
father, having  heard  of  his  profligacy,  altered  his  will,  and  left 
every  farthing  he  had  in  the  world,  amounting  to  upwards  of 
fifty  or  sixty  thousand  pounds,  to  a  charitable  institution,  the 
whole  of  which  had  been  originally  destined  to  Mr  Effingstone. 
The  only  notice  taken  of  him  in  the  old  gentleman's  will  was, 
"  To  St  John  Henry  Effingstone,  my  unworthy  godson,  I  be- 
queath the  sum  of  five  pounds  sterling,  to  purchase  a  Bible  and 
Prayer-book,  believing  the  time  may  yet  come  when  he  will 
require  them." — These  circumstances,  I  say,  added  to  one  or 
two  other  irritating  concomitants,  such  as  will  sometimes  suc- 
ceed in  stinging  even  your  7nen  about  town  into  something  like 
reflection,  brief,  bitter,  and  futile  though  it  be,  contributed  to 
accelerate  the  inroads  of  his  dangerous  disorder.  We  were  com- 
pelled to  adopt  such  powerful  antiphlogistic  treatment  as  reduced 


160  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

him  to  within  an  inch  of  his  life.  Previous  to,  and  in  the  course 
of,  this  illness,  he  exhibited  one  or  two  characteristic  traits. 

"Doctor — is  delirium  usually  an  attendant  on  this  disorder?" 
he  enquired  one  morning.     I  told  him  it  was — very  frequently. 

"  Ah !  then,  I'd  better  become  a.y-hm<ros,  with  one  of  old,  and 
bite  out  my  tongue;  for,  God  knows !  my  life  won't  bear  ripping 
up !  I  shall  say  what  will  horrify  you  all!  Delirium  blackens 
a  poor  fellow  sadly  among  his  friends,  doesn't  it?  Babbling 
devil— what  can  silence  it?  If  you  should  hear  me  beginning  to 
let  out,  suffocate  me — do,  doctor." 

"  Any  chance  of  my  giving  the  great  cut  this  time,  doctor, 
eh?"  he  enquired  the  same  evening,  with  great  apparent 
nonchalance.  Seeing  my  puzzled  air — for  I  did  not  exactly 
comprehend  the  expression  "great  cut"— he  asked  quickly, 
"  Doctor,  shall  I  die,  d'ye  think?"  I  told  him  I  certainly  ap- 
prehended great  danger,  for  his  symptoms  began  to  look  very 
serious.  "  Then  the  ship  must  be  cleared  for  action.  WTiat  is 
the  best  way  of  ensuring  recovery,  provided  it  is  to  be?"  I  told 
him  that,  among  other  things,  he  must  be  kept  very  quiet- 
must  not  have  his  mind  exc'ted  by  visiters. 

"  Nurse,  ring  the  bell  for  George,"  said  he,  suddenly  inter- 
rupting me.  The  valet,  in  a  few  moments,  answered  the  sum- 
mons. "  George,  d'ye  value  your  neck,  eh?"  The  man  bowed. 
"  Then,  harkee,  see  you  don't  let  in  a  living  soul  to  see  me, 
except  the  medical  people.  Friends,  relatives,  riiother,  brothers, 
sisters — harkee,  sirrah !  shut  them  all  out — ^And,  duns — mind- 
duns  especially.     If should  come,  and  get  inside  the  door, 

kick  him  out  again ;  and  if comes,  and ,  and ,  tell 

them,  that  if  they  don't  mind  what  they  are  about,  I'll  die,  if 
it's  only  to  cheat  them."  The  man  bowed  and  retired.  "  And 
— and — doctor,  what  else?" 

"  If  you  should  appear  approaching  your  end,  Mr  Effing- 
stone,  you  would  allow  us,  perliaps,  to  call  in  a  clergyman  to 
assist  you  in  your  devo" 

"  What— eh— a  parson  ?     Oh,  it !   no,  no— out  of  the 

question  —  non  ad  rem,  I  assure  you,"  he  replied  hastily. 
"  D'ye  think  I  can't  roll  down  to  hell  fast  enough,  without  hav- 


A  MAN  ABOUT  TOWN. — CHAPTER  XH.  161 

ing  my  wheels  oiled  by  their  hypocritical  humbug  ?  Don't 
name  it  again,  doctor,  on  any  account,  I  beg." 

*  *  *  He  grew  rapidly  worse,  but  ultimately  recovered. 
His  injunctions  were  obeyed  to  the  letter ;  for  his  man  George 
idolized  his  master,  and  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  all  applications  for 
admission  to  his  master's  chamber.  Itwas  well  there  was  no  oneof 
his  friends  or  relatives  present  to  listen  to  his  ravings ;  for  the  dis- 
gorgings  of  his  polluted  soul  were  horrible.  His  progress  towards 
convalescence  was  by  very  slow  steps  ;  for  the  energies  of  both 
mind  and  body  had  been  dreadfully  shaken.  His  illness,  how- 
ever, had  worked  little  or  no  alteration  in  his  moral  sentiment — 
or  if  any  thing,  for  the  worse. 

"It  won't  do  at  all,  will  it,  doctor?"  said  Mr  Effingstone, 
when  I  was  visiting  him  one  morning  at  the  house  of  a  titled 
relation  in Square,  whither  he  had  been  removed  to  pre- 
pare for  a  jaunt  to  the  Continent.  "  What  do  you  allude  to, 
Mr  Effingstone  ? —  What  won't  do  ?  "  I  asked,  for  I  knew  not  to 
what  he  alluded,  as  the  question  was  the  first  break  of  a  long 
pause  in  our  conversation,  which  had  been  quite  of  a  mis- 
cellaneous character.  "  What  won't  do  ?  " — "  Why,  the  sort  of 
life  I  have  been  leading  about  town  these  two  or  three  last 
years,"  he  replied.  "  Egad!  doctor,  it  has  nearly  wound  me 
up,  has  not  it  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  Mr  Effingstone,  I  think  so.  You  have  had  a  very, 
very  narrow  escape — have  been  within  a  hair's-breadth  of  your 
grave." — "Ay!"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  sigh,  passing  his  hand 
rapidly  over  his  noble  forehead,  "  'twas  a  complete  toss  up 
whether  I  should  go  or  stay  !  I  look  somewhat  shaken — une 
roue  qui  se  deraye — do  I  not,  faith  ? — But  come,  come,  the  good 
ship  has  weathered  the  storm  bravely,  though  she  has  been  bat- 
tered a  little  in  her  timbers  ! "  said  he  striking  his  breast ;  "and 
she's  fit  for  sea  again  already — with  a  little  caulking,  that  is. 
Heigho  !  what  a  fool  illness  makes  a  man  !  I've  had  some  of  the 
strangest,  oddest  twingings — such  gleams  and  visions! — What 
d'ye  think,  doctor,  I've  had  dinging  in  my  ears  night  and  day, 
like  a  dismal  church  bell  ?  Why,  a  passage  from  old  Persius,  and 
this  is  it,  (you  know  I  was  a  dab  at  Latin,  once,  doctor,)  rotunda 
ore — 

1.  i 


162  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

Magne  Pater  divum !  secvos  punire  tyraunob 
Haud  alia  ratioue  Telis,  quum  dira  libido 
Movurit  ingenium,  ferventi  tincta  veneno; 
— Virtutem  videant — intabescantque  relicta  I  * 

True  and  forcible  enough,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes, "  I  replied  ;  and  expressed  my  satisfaction  at  his  altered 
sentiments.  "  He  might  rely  on  it,"  I  ventured  to  assure  him, 
"  that  the  paths  of  virtue,  of  religion  " — I  was  getting  on  too  fast ! 

"  Poh,  poh,  doctor  I  No  humbug,  I  beg — come,  come,  no 
humbug — no  nonsense  of  that  sort!  I  meant  nothing  of  the 
kind,  I  can  assure  you !  I'm  a  better  Bentley  than  you,  I  see  ! 
What  d'ye  think  is  my  reading  of  '  virtutem  videant  ? ' — Why, 
let  them  get  wives  when  they're  worn  out,  and  want  nursing — 
ah,  ha! — Curse  me  ! — I'd  go  on  raking — ay,  I  would,  stern  as 
you  look  about  it ! — but  I'm  too  much  the  worse  for  wear  at 
present— I  must  recruit  a  little." 

"  Mr  Effingstone,  I'm  really  confounded  at  hearing  you  talk 
in  so  light  a  strain !     Forgive  me,  my  dear  sir,  but" 

"  Fiddle-de-dee,  my  dear  doctor  !  Of  course,  I'll  forgive  you, 
if  you  won't  repeat  the  oflTence.  'Tis  unpleasant — a  nuisance — 
^tis,  upon  my  soul!  Well,  however,  what  do  you  think  is  the 
upshot  of  the  whole — the  practical  point — the  winding  up  of 
affairs — the  balancing  of  the  books" — he  delighted  in  accumiv 
lations  of  this  sort — "  the  shutting  up  of  the  volume,  eh  ?  I'm 
going  to  get  married — I  am,  by !  I'm  at  dead  low  water- 
mark in  money  matters;  and,  in  short,  I  repeat  it,  I  intend  to 
marry — a  gold  bag !  A  good  move,  isn't  it  ?  But,  to  be  candid, 
I  can't  take  all  the  credit  of  the  thing  to  myself  either,  having 
been  a  trifle  bored,  bullied,  badgered  into  it  by  the  family.  They 
say  the  world  cries  shame  on  me !  Simpletons,  why  listen  to 
the  world  !^ — I  only  laugh,  ha,  ha,  ha!  and  cry  curse  on  the 
world;  and  so  we  are  quits  with  one  another  !f — By  the  way, 

•Fers.  Sat.  iii. 

[t  "  What  are  the  thousands  that  have  been  laughing  at  us,  but  company?  " 
— "  Laard,  my  dear,"  returned  he  with  the  greatest  good-humour,  "  you  seem 

immensely  chagrined;  but,  b 1  me!  when  the  world  laughs  at  me,  J  laugh  at 

all  the  world — and  so  we  are  even" — Citizen  of  the  World — Letter  LIV. 

It  is  said  that  the  germ  of  the  observation  in  the  text  i3  "  to  be  found  in 
Plautus"  I  do  not  recollect  it  there:  possibly  Effingstone  had  some  indistinct 
recollection  of  this  passage  from  Goldsmith.— Ed.] 


A  MAN  ABOUT  TOWN.^ — CHAPTER  XH.  163 

the  germ  of  that's  to  be  found  in  that  worthy  old  fellow 
Plautus ! " 

All  this,  uttered  with  Mr  EflBngstone's  characteristic  emphasis 
and  rapidity  of  tone  and  manner,  conveyed  his  real  sentiments ; 
and  it  was  not  long  before  he  carried  them  into  effect.  He 
spent  two  or  three  months  in  the  south  of  France;  and  not  long 
after  his  return  to  England,  with  restored  health  and  energies, 
he  singled  out,  from  among  the  many,  many  women  who  would 
have  exulted  in  being  an  object  of  the  attentions  of  the  accom- 
plished, the  distingue  EflSngstone,  Lady  E ,  the  very 

flower  of  English  aristocratical  beauty,  daughter  of  a  distin- 
guished peer,  and  sole  heiress  to  the  immense  estates  of  an  aged 
baronet  in  shire. 

The  unceasing  exclusive  attentions  exacted  from  her  suitor  by 
this  haughty  young  beauty,  operated  for  a  while  as  a  salutary 
check  upon  Mr  EfBngstone's  reviving  propensities  to  dissipation. 
So  long  as  there  was  the  most  distant  possibility  of  his  being 
rejected,  he  was  her  willing  slave  at  all  hours,  on  all  occasions, 
yielding  implicit  obedience,  and  making  incessant  sacrifices  of 
his  own  personal  conveniences.  As  soon,  however,  as  he  had 
"  run  down  the  game,"  as  he  called  it,  and  the  lady  was  so  far 
compromised,  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  as  to  render  retreat  next 
to  impossible,  he  began  to  slacken  in  his  attentions;  not,  how- 
ever, so  palpably  and  visibly  as  to  alarm  either  her  ladyship,  or 
any  of  their  mutual  relations  or  friends.  He  compensated  for 
the  attentions  he  was  obliged  to  pay  her  by  day,  by  the  most 
extravagant  nightly  excesses.  The  pursuits  of  intellect,  of  liter- 
ature, and  philosophy,  were  utterly,  and  apparently  finally  dis- 
carded— and  for  what  ?  For  wallowing  swinishly  in  the  foulest 
sinks  of  depravity,  herding  among  the  acknowledged  outcasts, 
commingling  intimately  with  the  very  scum  and  refuse  of 
society,  battening  on  the  rottenness  of  obscenity,  and  revelling 
amid  the  hellish  orgies  celebrated  nightly  in  haunts  of  nameless 
infamy.  Gambling,  gluttony,  drunkenness,  harlotry,  blas- 
phemy ! — 

[I  cannot  bring  myself  to  make  public  the  shocking  details 
with  which   the  following  five  pages  of  Dr 's  Diary  are 


1(54  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

occupied.  They  are  too  revolting  for  the  columns  of  this  dis- 
tinguished Magazine,  and  totally  unfit  for  the  eyes  of  its  miscel- 
laneous readers.  If  printed,  they  would  appear  to  many 
absolutely  incredible.  They  are  little  else  than  a  corroboration 
of  what  is  advanced  in  the  sentences  immediately  preceding  this 
interjected  paragraph.  What  follows  must  be  given  only  in  a 
fragmentary  form — the  cup  of  horror  must  be  poured  out  before 
reader,  only  xarot  (rTocyoVa.*] 

Mr  Effingstone,  one  morning,  accompanied  Lady  E and 

her  mother  to  one  of  the  fashionable  shops,  for  the  purpose  of 
aiding  the  former  in  her  choice  of  some  beautiful  Chinese  toys, 
to  complete  the  ornamental  department  of  her  boudoir.  After 
having  purchased  some  of  the  most  splendid  and  costly  articles 
which  had  been  exhibited,  the  ladies  drew  on  their  gloves,  and 
gave  each  an  arm  to  Mr  Effingstone  to  lead  them  to  the  carriage. 

Lady  E was  in  a  flutter  of  unusually  animated  spirits,  and 

was  complimenting  Mr  Eifingstone,  in  enthusiastic  terms,  on 
the  taste  with  which  he  had  guided  their  purchases.  They  had 
left  the  shop  door,  and  the  footman  was  letting  down  the  car- 
riage-steps, when  a  very  young  woman,  elegantly  dressed,  who 
happened  to  be  passing  at  that  moment,  seemingly  in  a  state  of 
deep  dejection,  suddenly  started  on  seeing  and  recognizing  Mr 
Effingstone,  placed  herself  between  them  and  the  carriage,  and, 
lifting  her  clasped  hands,  exclaimed,  in  piercing  accents,  "  Oh, 
Henry,  Henry,  Henry !  how  cruelly  you  have  deserted  your 
poor  ruined  girl !  What  have  I  done  to  deserve  it !  I'm  broken- 
hearted, and  can  rest  nowhere !  I've  been  walking  up  and  down 

M Street  nearly  three  hours  this  morning  to  get  a  sight  of 

you,  but  could  not !    Oh,  Henry,  how  differently  you  said  you 

would  behave  before  you  brought  me  up  from  shire!" 

All  this  was  uttered  with  the  impassioned  vehemence  and 
rapidity  of  highly  excited  feelings,  and  uninterruptedly ;  for  both 

Lady  E and  her  mother  seemed  perfectly  petrified,  and 

stood  pale  and  speechless.  Mr  Effingstone,  too,  was  for  a 
moment  thunderstruck  ;  but  an  instant's  reflection  showed  him 
the  necessity  of  acting  with  decision  one  way  or  another. 
Though  deadly  pale,  he  did  not  disclose  any  other  symptom  of 

*  Alex,  in  Aphroditio. 


A  MAN  ABOUT  TOWN. — CHAPTEE  XII.  165 

agitation ;  and  with  an  assumed  air  of  astonishment  and  irre- 
cognition,  exclaimed  concernedly,  "  Poor  creature !  unfortunate 
thing !  Some  strange  mistake  this ! " 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  no,  Henry,  it's  no  mistake  !  You  know  me  well 
enough — I'm  your  own  poor  Hannah  !" 

"  Poh,  poh  !  nonsense,  woman ;  /  never  saw  you  before." 

"  Never  saw  me !  never  saw  me ! "  almost  shrieked  the  girl ; 
"  and  is  it  come  to  this  ?  " 

"  Woman,  don't  be  foolish — cease,  or  we  must  give  you  over 
to  an  officer  as  an  impostor,"  said  Mr  EflBngstone,  the  perspira- 
tion bursting  from  every  pore.  "  Come,  come  your  ladyships 
had  better  allow  me  to  hand  you  into  the  carriage.  See,  there's 
a  crowd  collecting." 

"No,  Mr  Effingstone,"  replied  Lady  E ^"s  mother  with 

excessive  agitation  ;  "  this  very  singular,  strange  affair — if  it  is 
a  mistake — had  better  be  set  right  on  the  spot.  Here,  young 
woman,  can  you  tell  me  what  is  the  name  of  this  gentleman  ?  " 
pointing  to  Mr  Effingstone. 

"  Effingstone — Effingstone,  to  be  sure,  ma'am,"  sobbed  the  girl, 
looking  imploringly  at  him.  The  instant  she  had  uttered  his 
name,  the  two  ladies,  dreadfully  agitated,  withdrew  their  arms 
from  his,  and,  with  the  footman's  assistance,  stepped  into  their 
carriage,  and  drove  ofif  rapidly,  leaving  Mr  Effingstone  bowing, 
kissinghis  hand,  and  assuring  them  that  he  should  "soon  settle  this 

absurd  affair,"  and  be  at Street  before  their  ladyships.  They 

heard  him  not,  however ;  for  the  instant  the  carriage  had  set  off, 
Lady  E fainted. 

"  Young  woman,  you're  quite  mistaken  in  me — I  never  saw 
you  before.  Here  is  ray  card — come  to  me  at  eight  to-night, " 
he  added,  in  an  under  tone,  so  as  to  be  heard  by  none  but  her  he 
addressed.  She  took  the  hint,  appeared  pacified,  and  each  with- 
drew different  ways — Mr  Effingstone  almost  suffocated  with 
suppressed  execrations.    He  flung  himself  into  a  hackney  coach. 

and  ordered  it  to Street,  intending  to  assure  Lady  E , 

with  a  smile,  that  he  had  "  instantly  put  an  end  to  the  ridiculous 
affair."  His  knock,  however,  brought  him  a  prompt  "  Not  at 
home,"  though  their  carriage  had  but  the  instant  before  driven 
from  the  door.    He  jumped  again  into  the  coach,  almost  gnash- 


166  MART  OF  A  LATE  PBTSICIAN. 

ing  his  teeth  with  fuiy,  drove  home,  and  dispatched  his  groom 
with  a  note,  and  orders  to  wait  an  answer.     He  soon  brought  it 

back,  with  the  intelligence  that  Lord  and  Lady had  given 

their  porter  orders  to  reject  all  letters  or  messages  from  Mr  Effing- 
stone  !  So  there  was  an  end  of  all  hopes  from  that  quarter.  This 
is  the  history  of  what  was  mysteriously  hinted  at  in  one  of  the 
papers  of  the  day,  as  a  "  strange  occurrence  in  high  life,  which 
would  probably  break  off  a  matrimonial  affair  long  considered 
as  settled."  But  how  did  Mr  Effingstone  receive  his  ruined  dupe 
at  the  appointed  hour  of  eight  ?  He  answered  her  expected  knock 
himself. 

"  Now,  look, ! "  said  he  fiercely,  extending  his  arm  with 

clenched  fist  towards  her,  "  if  ever  you  presume  to  darken  my 

door  again,  by ,  I'll  murder  you !  I  give  you  fair  warning. 

You've  ruined  me — you  have,  you  accursed ! " 

"  Oh,  my  God !  What  am  I  to  do  to  live  ?  What  is  to  become 
of  me  ?  "  groaned  the  victim. 

"  Do  ?  Why,  go  and  be !  And  here's  something  to  help 

you  on  your  way — there ! "  and,  flinging  her  a  cheque  for  £50, 
he  shut  the  door  ^^olently  in  her  face. 

Mr  Effingstone  now  plunged  into  profligacy  with  a  spirit  of 
almost  diabolical  desperation.  Divers  dark  hints — stinging 
innuendoes — appeared  in  the  papers  of  his  disgraceful  notoriety 
in  certain  scenes  of  an  abominable  description.  But  he  laughed 
at  them.  His  family  at  length  cast  him  off,  and  refused  to 
recognize  him  till  he  chose  to  alter  his  courses — to  make  the 
'■'■  amende"  to  society. 

Mr  Effingstone  was  boxing  one  morning  with  Belasco — I 
think  it  was — at  the  latter's  rooms;  and  was  preparing  to  plant 
a  hit  which  the  fighter  had  defied  him  to  do,  when  be  suddenly 
dropped  his  guard,  turned  pale,  and,  in  a  moment  or  two,  fell 
fainting  into  the  arms  of  the  astounded  boxer.  He  had,  several 
days  previously,  suspected  himself  the  subject  of  indisposition — 
how  could  it  be  otherwise,  keeping  such  hours,  and  living  such 
a  life  as  he  did? — but  not  of  so  serious  a  nature  as  to  prevent 
him  from  going  out  as  usual.  As  soon  as  he  had  recovered, 
and  swallowed  a  few  drops  of  spirits  and  water,  he  drove  home, 


A  MAN  ABOUT  TOWN. — CHAPTER  XII.  167 

intending  to  have  sent  immediately  for  Mr ,  the  well-known 

surgeon ;  but,  on  arriving  at  his  rooms,  he  found  a  travelling 
carriage-and-four  waiting  before  the  door,  for  the  purpose  of 
conveying  him  instantly  to  the  bedside  of  his  dying  mother,  in 
a  distant  part  of  England,  as  she  wished  personally  to  commu- 
nicate to  him  something  of  importance  before  she  died.  This 
he  learned  from  two  of  his  relatives  who  were  up  stairs  giving 
directions  to  his  servant  to  pack  up  his  clothes,  and  make  other 
preparations  lor  his  journey,  so  that  nothing  might  detain  him 
from  setting  off  the  instant  he  arrived  at  his  rooms.  He  was 
startled — alarmed  —  confounded  at  all  this.  Good  God!  he 
thought,  vrhat  was  to  become  of  him  ?  He  was  utterly  unfit  to 
undertake  a  journey,  requiring  instant  medical  attendance,  which 
had  been  too  long  deferred ;  for  his  dissipation  had  already  made 
rapid  inroads  on  his  constitution.  Yet  what  was  to  be  done  ? 
His  situation  was  such  as  could  not  be  communicated  to  his 
relatives,  for  he  did  not  choose  to  encounter  their  sarcastic  re- 
proaches.    He  had  nothing  for  it  but  to  get  into  the  carriage 

with  them,  go  down  to shire,  and,  when  there,  devise  some 

plausible  pretext  for  returning  instantly  to  town.  That,  how- 
ever, he  found  impracticable.  His  mother  would  not  trust  him 
out  of  her  sight  one  instant,  night  or  day,  but  kept  his  hand  close 
locked  in  hers ;  he  was  also  surrounded  by  the  congregated 
members  of  the  family,  and  could  literally  scarce  stir  out  of  the 
house  an  instant.  He  dissembled  his  illness  with  tolerable  suc- 
cess, till  his  aggravated  agonies  drove  him  almost  beside  him- 
self Without  breathing  a  sj'llable  to  any  one  but  his  own  man, 
whom  he  took  mth  him,  he  suddenly  left  the  house,  and,  with- 
out even  a  change  of  clothes,  threw  himself  into  the  first  London 
coach;  and,  by  two  o'clock  the  next  day,  was  at  his  own  rooms 

in  M Street,  in  a  truly  deplorable  condition,  and  attended 

by  Sir and  myself.     The  consternation  of  his  family  in 

shire  may  be  conceived.     He  coined  some  story  about 

being  obliged  to  stand  second  in  a  duel — but  his  real  state  was 
soon  discovered.  Nine  weeks  of  unmitigated  agony  were  passed 
by  Mr  Effingstone — the  virulence  of  his  disorder  for  a  long  time 
setting  at  defiance  all  that  medicine  could  do.  This  illness, 
also,  broke  him  down  sadly,  and  we  recommended  to  him  a 


168  DIARY  OF  A  I-ATE  PHYSICIAN. 

second  sojourn  in  the  south  of  France — for  which  he  set  out  the 
instant  he  could  undertake  the  journey  with  safety.  Much  of 
his  peculiar  character  was  developed  in  this  illness;  that  haughty, 
reckless  spirit  of  defiance — that  contemptuous  disregard  of  the 
sacred  consolations  of  religion — that  sullen  indifference  as  to 
the  event  which  might  await  him — which  his  previous  character 
■would  have  warranted  me  in  predicting. 

sf  *  *  *  sC  *  * 

About  seven  months  from  the  period  last  mentioned,  I  received, 
one  Sunday  evening,  a  note,  written  in  hurried  characters ;  and 
a  hasty  glance  at  the  seal,  which  bore  Mr  EfBngstone's  crest, 
filled  me  with  sudden  vague  apprehensions  that  some  misfor- 
tune or  other  had  befallen  him.     This  was  the  note : — 

"  Dear  doctor — For  God's  sake,  come  and  see  me  immediately, 
for  I  have  this  day  arrived  in  London  from  the  Continent,  and 
am  suffering  the  tortures  of  the  damned,  both  in  mind  and 
body.  Come,  come — in  God's  name,  come  instantly,  or  I  shall 
go  mad,  or  destroy  myself.  Not  a  word  of  my  return  to  any  one 
till  I  have  seen  you.  You  will  find  me — in  short,  my  man  will 
accompany  you. — Yours  in  agony, 

"  St  J.  H.  ErriNGSTONE. 

"  Sunday  Evening,  Nov.  18 — ." 

Tongue  cannot  utter  the  dismay  with  which  this  note  filled 
me.  His  unexpected  return  from  abroad — the  obscure  and  dis- 
tant part  of  the  town  (St  George's  in  the  East)  where  he  had 
established  himself — the  dreadful  terms  in  which  his  note  was 
couched — revived,  amidst  a  variety  of  vague  conjectures,  certain 
fearful  apprehensions  for  him  which  I  had  begun  to  entertain 
before  he  quitted  England.  I  ordered  out  my  chariot  instantly ; 
his  groom  mounted  the  box  to  guide  the  coachman,  and  we  drove 
down  rapidly.  A  sudden  recollection  of  the  contents  of  several 
of  the  letters  he  had  sent  me  latterly  from  the  Continent,  at  my 
request,  served  to  corroborate  my  worst  fears.  I  had  given  liim 
over  for  lost,  by  the  time  my  chariot  drew  up  opposite  the  house 
where  he  had  so  strangely  taken  up  his  abode.  The  street  and 
neighbourhood,  though  not  clearly  discernible  through  the  fogs 
of  a  November  evening,  contrasted  strangely  with  the  aris- 


A  MAN  ABOUT  TOWN. — CHAPTER  XII.  169 

tocratical  regions  to  which  my  patient  had  been  accustomed. 

Row  was  narrow,  and  the  houses  were  small,  yet  clean  and 

creditable  looking.  On  entering  No.  — ,  the  landlady,  a  person 
of  quiet  respectable  appearance,  told  me  that  Mr  Hardy — for 
such,  it  seems,  was  the  name  he  chose  to  go  by  in  these  parts — 
had  just  retired  to  rest,  as  he  felt  fatigued  and  poorly,  and  she 
was  just  going  to  make  him  some  gruel.  She  spoke  in  a  tone  of 
flurried  excitation,  and  with  an  air  of  doubt,  which  were  easily 
attributable  to  her  astonishment  at  a  man  of  Mr  Effingstone's 
appearance  and  attendance,  with  such  superior  travelling  equip- 
ments, dropping  into  such  a  house  and  neighbourhood  as  hers. 
I  repaired  to  his  bedchamber  immediately.  It  was  a  small  com- 
fortably furnished  room ;  the  fire  was  lit,  and  two  candles  were 
burning  on  the  drawers.  On  the  bed,  the  plain  chintz  curtains 
of  which  were  only  half-drawn,  lay  St  John  Henry  Effingstone. 
I  must  pause  a  moment  to  describe  his  appearance,  as  it  struck 
me  at  first  looking  at  him.  It  may  be  thought  rather  far-fetched, 
perhaps,  but  I  could  not  help  comparing  him,  in  my  own  mind, 
to  a  gem  set  in  the  midst  of  faded  tarnished  embroidery.  The 
coarse  texture  of  the  bed-furniture,  the  ordinary  style  of  the 
room,  its  constrained  dimensions  contrasted  strikingly  with  the 
indications  of  elegance  and  fashion  afforded  by  the  scattered 
clothes,  toilet,  and  travelling  equipment,  &c. — together  with  the 
person  and  manners — of  its  present  occupant;  who  lay  on  abed 
all  tossed  and  tumbled,  with  only  a  few  minutes'  restlessness. 
A  dazzling  diamond  ring  sparkled  on  the  little  finger  of  his  left 
hand,  and  was  the  only  ornament  he  ever  wore.  There  was 
something  also  in  the  snowiness,  simplicity,  and  fineness  of  his 
linen,  which  alone  might  have  evidenced  the  superior  consideration 
of  its  wearer,  even  were  that  not  sufficiently  visible  in  the  noble, 
commanding  outline  of  his  features,  faded  though  they  were,  and 
shrinking  beneath  the  inroads  of  illness  and  dissipation.  His 
forehead  was  white  and  ample ;  his  eye  had  lost  none  of  its  fire, 
though  it  gleamed  with  restless  energy;  in  a  word,  there  was 
that  ease  and  loftiness  in  his  bearing — that  indescribable  maniere 
d'etre — ^which  are  inseparable  from  high  birth  and  breeding.  So 
much  for  the  appearance  of  things  on  my  entrance. 


170  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

"  How  are  you,  Mr  Effingstone — how  are  you,  my  dear  sir  ?  " 
said,  I,  sitting  down  by  the  bedside. 

"  Doctor — the  pains  of  hell  have  got  hold  upon  me.  I  am 
undone, "  he  replied  gloomily,  in  a  broken  voice,  and  extended  to 
me  a  hand  cold  as  marble. 

"  Is  it  as  you  suspected  in  your  last  letter  to  me  from  Rouen, 
Mr  Effingstone?"  I  enquired  after  a  pause.  He  shook  his 
head,  and  covered  his  face  with  both  hands,  but  made  me  no 
answer.  Thinking  he  was  in  tears,  I  said,  in  a  soothing  tone — 
"  Corae,  come,  my  dear  sir,  don't  be  carried  away:  don't" 

"  Faugh !  Do  you  take  me  for  a  puling  child,  or  a  woman, 
doctor?  Don't  suspect  me  again  of  such  contemptible  pusil- 
lanimity, low  as  I  am  fallen,"  he  replied,  with  startling  stern- 
ness, removing  his  hands  from  his  face. 

"  I  hope,  after  all,  that  matters  are  not  so  desperate  as  your 
fears  would  persuade  you,"  said  I,  feeling  his  pulse. 

"  Doctor,  don't  delude  me ;  all  is  over.  I  know  it  is.  A 
horrible  death  is  before  me ;  but  I  shall  meet  it  like  a  man.  I 
have  made  my  bed,  and  must  lie  upon  it.  I  have  not  only 
strewn,  but  lit  the  pile  of  my  own  immolation!  " 

"  Come,  come,  Mr  Effingstone,  don't  be  so  gloomy — so  hope- 
less; the  exhausted  powers  of  nature  may  yet  be  revived,"  said 
I,  after  having  asked  him  many  questions. 

"  Doctor ,  I'll  soon  put  an  end  to  that  strain  of  yours. 

'Tis  absurd — pardon  me — but  it  is.  Reach  me  one  of  those 
candles,  please."  I  did  so.  "  Now,  I'll  show  you  how  to  translate 
a  passage  of  Persius  : — 

Tentemua  fauces  : — tenero  latet  ulcus  in  ore 
Putre,  quod  baud  deceat  plebeia  radere  beta ! 

"  Eh,  you  recollect  it?  Well,  look! — what  say  you  to  this ; 
isn't  it  frightful?"  he  asked  bitterly,  raising  the  candle  that  I 
might  look  into  his  mouth.  It  was,  alas,  as  he  said !  In  fact, 
his  whole  constitution  had  been  long  tainted,  and  exhibited 
symptoms  of  soon  breaking  up  altogether.  I  feared,  from  the 
period  of  mj'  attendance  on  him  during  the  illness  which  drove 
him  last  to  the  continent,  that  it  was  beyond  human  power  to 
dislodge  the  harpy  that  had  fixed  its  cruel  fangs  deeply,  inex- 
tricably, in  his  vitals.     Could  it  be  wondered  at  even  by  him- 


A  MAN  ABOUT  TOWN. CHAPTER  XIl.  171 

self?  Neglect,  in  the  first  instance,  added  to  a  persevering 
course  of  profligacy,  had  doomed  him,  long,  long  before,  to 
premature  and  horrible  decay !  And  though  it  can  scarcely 
be  credited,  it  is  nevertheless  the  fact,  that  even  on  the  conti- 
nent, in  the  character  of  a  shattered  invalid,  the  infatuated  man 
resumed  those  dissolute  courses  which,  in  England,  had  already 
hurried  him  almost  to  death's  door ! 

"  My  good  God,  Mr  EfBngstone,"  I  enquired,  almost  para- 
lysed with  amazement  at  hearing  him  describe  recent  scenes  in 
which  he  had  mingled,  which  would  have  made  even  satyrs 
skulk  ashamed  into  the  woods  of  old,  "  how  could  you  have  been 
so  insane — so  stark  staring  mad,  to  say  nothing  else  of  it?" 

"  By  instinct,  doctor — by  instinct !  The  nature  of  the  beast!" 
he  replied,  through  his  closed  teeth,  and  with  an  unconscious 
clenching  of  his  hands.  Many  enquiries  into  his  past  and  pre- 
sent symptoms  forewarned  me  that  his  case  would  probably  be 
marked  by  more  appalling  features  than  any  that  had  ever  come 
under  my  care ;  and  that  there  was  not  a  ray  of  hope  that  he 
would  survive  the  long,  lingering,  and  maddening  agonies, 
which  were  "  measured  out  to  him  from  the  poisoned  chalice," 
which  he  had  "  commended  to  his  own  lips."  At  the  time  I  am 
speaking  of — I  mean  when  I  paid  him  the  visit  above  described 
— his  situation  was  not  far  from  that  of  Job,  described  in  chap. 


-  He  shed  no  tears,  and  repeatedly  strove,  but  in  vain,  to  repress 
sighs  with  which  his  breast  heaved,  nearly  to  bursting,  while  I 
pointed  out,  in  obedience  to  his  determination  to  know  the 
worst,  some  portions  of  the  dreary  prospect  before  him. 

"  Horrible!  hideous ! "  he  exclaimed,  in  a  low  broken  tone,  his 
flesh  creeping  from  head  to  foot.  "  How  shall  I  endure  it ! — 
Oh !  Epictetus,  how  ?  "  He  relapsed  into  silence,  with  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  ceiling,  and  his  hands  joined  over  his  breast,  and 
pointing  upwards,  in  a  posture  which  I  considered  supplicatory. 
I  rejoiced  to  see  it,  and  ventured  to  say,  after  much  hesitation, 
that  I  was  delighted  to  see  him  at  length  looking  to  the  right 
quarter  for  support  and  consolation. 

"  Bah  1 "  he  exclaimed  impetuously,  removing  his  hands,  and 


172  DIAEY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

eyeing  me  with  sternness,  almost  approaching  fury,  "  whj  will 
you  persist  in  pestering  your  patients  with  twaddle  of  that  sort? 
— eandem  semper  canens  cantilenam,  ad  nauseam  usque — as 
though  you  carried  a  psalter  in  your  pocket  ?  When  I  want  to 
listen  to  any  thing  of  that  kind,  why,  I'll  pay  a  parson !  Haven't 
I  a  tide  enough  of  horror  to  bear  up  against  already,  without 
your  bringing  a  sea  of  superstition  upon  me  ?  No  more  of  it — 
no  more — 'tis  foul."  I  felt  roused  myself,  at  last,  to  something 
like  correspondent  emotion ;  for  there  was  an  insolence  of  as- 
sumption in  his  tone  which  I  cuiild  not  brook. 

"  Mr  Effingstone,"  said  I  calmly,  "  this  silly  swagger  will  not 
do.  'Tis  unworthy  of  you — unscholarly — ungentlemanly.  You 
force  me  to  say  so.  I  beg  I  may  hear  no  more  of  it,  or  you  and 
I  must  part.  I  have  never  been  accustomed  to  such  treatment, 
and  I  cannot  now  learn  how  to  endure  it  from  you.  From  what 
quarter  can  you  expect  support  or  fortitude,"  said  I,  in  a  mUder 
tone,  seeing  him  startled  and  surprized  at  my  tone  and  manner, 
"  except  the  despised  consolations  of  religion  ?  " 

"  Doctor,  you  are  too  superior  to  petty  feelings  not  to  over- 
look a  little  occasional  petulance  in  such  a  wretched  fellow  as  I 
am !  You  ask  me  whither  I  look  for  support  ?  I  reply,  to  the  ener- 
gies of  my  own  mind — the  tried,  disciplined  energies  of  my  own 
mind,  doctor — a  mind  that  never  knew  what  fear  was — that  no 
disastrous  combinations  of  misfortune  could  ever  yet  shake  from 
its  fortitude !  What  but  this  is  it,  that  enables  me  to  shut  my 
ears  to  the  whisperings  of  some  pitying  fiend,  who,  knowing 
what  hideous  tortures  await  me,  has  stepped  out  of  hell  to  come 
and  advise  me  to  suicide — eh  ?  "  he  enquired,  his  eye  glaring  on  me 
with  a  very  fearful  expression.  "  However,  as  religion,  that  is, 
your  Christian  religion,  is  a  subject  on  which  you  and  I  can 
never  agree — an  old  bone  of  contention  between  us — why,  the 
less  said  about  it  the  better.  It's  useless  to  irritate  a  man  whose 
mind  is  made  up — I  shall  nevei — I  will  never — be  a  believer. 
May  I  perish  first !  "  he  concluded,  with  angry  vehemence. 

The  remainder  of  the  interview  I  spent  in  endeavouring  to 
persuade  him  to  relinquish  his  present  unsuitable  lodgings,  and 
return  to  the  sphere  of  his  friends  and  relations — but  in  vain. 
He  was  fixedly  determined  to  continue  in  that  obscure  hole,  he 


A  MAN  ABOUT  TOWN. — CHAPTER  XII.  173 

said,  till  there  was  about  a  week  or  so  between  him  and  death, 
and  then  he  would  return,  "  and  die  in  the  bosom  of  his  family, 
as  the  phrase  was. "  Alas !  however,  I  knew  but  too  well,  that, 
in  the  event  of  his  adhering  to  that  resolution,  he  was  fated 
to  expire  in  the  bed  where  he  then  lay ;  for  I  foresaw  but  too 
truly  that  the  termination  of  his  illness  would  be  attended 
■with  circumstances  rendering  removal  utterly  impossible.  He 
made  me  pledge  my  word  that  I  would  not,  without  his  express 
request  or  sanction,  apprize  any  member  of  his  family,  or  any  of 
his  friends,  that  he  had  returned  to  England.  It  was  in  vain 
that  I  expostulated— that  I  represented  the  responsibility  imposed 
upon  me ;  and  reminded  him,  that,  in  the  event  of  any  thing 
serious  and  sudden  befalling  him,  the  censure  of  all  his  relatives 
would  be  levelled  at  me.  He  was  immovable.  "  Doctor,  you 
know  well  I  dare  not  see  them,  as  well  on  my  own  account  as 
theirs,"  said  he  bitterly.  He  begged  me  to  prescribe  him  a 
powerful  anodyne  draught;  for  that  he  could  get  no  rest  at 
nights — that  an  intense,  racking  pain  was  gnawing  all  his  bones 
from  morning  to  evening — from  evening  to  morning  :  and  what 
with  t^is  and  other  dreadful  concomitants,  he  "  was, "  he  said, 
"  suffering  the  tortures  of  the  damned,  and  perhaps  worse. "  I 
complied  with  his  request,  and  ordered  him  also  many  other  medi- 
cines and  applications,  and  promised  to  see  him  soon  in  the 
morning.  I  was,  accordingly,  with  him  about  twelve  the  next 
day.  He  was  sitting  up,  and  in  his  dressing-gown,  before  the 
fire,  in  great  pain,  and  suffering  under  the  deepest  dejection. 
He  complained  heavily  of  the  intense  and  unremitting  agony  he 
had  endured  all  night  long,  and  thought  that,  from  some  cause 
or  other,  the  laudanum  draught  I  ordered  had  tended  to  make 
him  only  more  acutely  sensible  of  the  pain.  "  It  is  a  peculiar 
and  horrible  sensation  ;  and  I  cannot  give  you  an  adequate  idea 
of  it, "  he  said :  "  it  is  as  though  the  marrow  in  my  bones 
were  transformed  into  something  animated — into  blind-worms, 
writhing,  biting,  and  stinging  incessantly  — and  he  shuddered, 
as  did  I  also,  at  the  revolting  comparison.  He  put  me  upon  a 
minute  exposition  of  the  rationale  of  his  disorder  ;  and  if  ever  I 
was  at  a  loss  for  adequate  expressions  or  illustrations,  he  sup- 
plied them  with  a  readiness,  an  exquisite  appositeness,  whicli. 


174  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

added  to  his  astonishing  acuteness  in  comprehending  the  most 
strictly  technical  details,  filled  me  with  admiration  for  his  great 
powers  of  mind,  and  poignant  regret  at  their  miserable  desecra- 
tion. 

"Well,  I  don't  think  you  can  give  me  any  efficient  rehef, 
doctor, "  said  he  ;  "  and  I  am,  therefore,  bent  on  trying  a  scheme 
of  my  own. " 

"And  what,  pray,  may  that  be?"  I  enquired  curiously,  with 
a  sigh. 

"  I'll  tell  you  my  preparations.     I've  ordered — by  ! — 

nearly  a  hundred  weight  of  the  strongest  tobacco  that's  to  be 
bought,  and  thousands  of  pipes ;  and  with  these  I  intend  to  smoke 
myself  into  stupidity,  or  rather  insensibility,  if  possible,  till  I 
can't  undertake  to  say  whether  I  live  or  not ;  and  my  good  fel- 
low, George,  is  to  be  reading  me  Don  Quixote  the  while."  Oh, 
with  what  a  sorrowful  air  of  forced  gayety  was  all  this  uttered ! 

One  sudden  burst  of  bitterness  I  well  recollect.  I  was  saying, 
while  putting  on  my  gloves  to  go,  that  I  hoped  to  see  him  in 
better  spirits  the  next  time  I  called. 

"  Better  spirits !    Ha !  ha !    How  the can  I  be  in  better 

spirits — an  exile  from  society — and  absolutely  rotting  away  here 
— in  such  a  contemptible  hovel  as  this,  among  a  set  of  base- 
born  brutal  savages  ? — faugh !  faugh !  It  does  need  something 
here — here,"  pressing  his  hand  to  his  forehead,  "  to  bear  it — ay, 
it  does  !  "  I  thought  his  tones  were  tremulous,  and  that  for  the 
first  time  I  had  ever  known  them  so;  and  I  could  not  help  think- 
ing the  tears  came  into  his  eyes,  for  he  started  suddenly  from 
me,  and  afiected  to  be  gazing  at  some  passing  object  in  the 
street.  I  saw  he  was  beginning  to  droop  under  a  conscious- 
ness of  the  bitter  degradation  into  which  he  had  sunk — the 
wretched  prospect  of  his  sun's  going  down  at  noon — and  in 
darkness  !  I  saw  that  the  strength  of  mind  to  which  he  clung 
so  pertinaciously  for  support,  was  fast  disappearing,  like  snow 
beneath  the  sunbeam.  *  *  *  * 

[Then  follow  the  details  of  his  disease,  which  are  so  shocking 
as  to  be  unfit  for  any  but  professional  eyes.  They  represent  all 
the  energies  of  his  nature  as  shaken  beyond  the  possibility  of 
restoration — his  constitution  thoroughly  polluted — wholly  un- 


A  MAN  ABOUT  TOWN. — CHAPTER  XII.  175 

dermined.  That  the  remedies  resorted  to  had  been  almost  more 
dreadful  than  the  disease — and  yet  exhibited  in  vain !  In  the 
next  twenty  pages  of  the  Diary,  the  shades  of  horror  are  repre- 
sented as  gradually  closing  and  darkening  around  this  wretched 
victim  of  debauchery ;  and  the  narrative  is  carried  forward 
through  three  months.  A  few  extracts  only,  from  this  portion, 
are  fitting  for  the  reader.] 

Friday,  January  S.^Mr  Effingstone  continues  in  the  same 
deplorable  state  described  in  my  former  entry.  It  is  absolutely 
revolting  to  enter  his  room,  the  effluvia  is  so  sickening,  so  over- 
powering. I  am  compelled  to  use  a  vinaigrette  incessantly,  as 
well  as  eau-de-Cologne,  and  other  scents,  in  profusion.  I  found 
him  engaged,  as  usual,  deep  in  Petronius  Arbiter! — -He  still 
makes  the  same  wretched  show  of  reliance  on  the  strength  and 
firmness  of  his  mental  powers ;  but  his  worn  and  haggard  fea- 
tures—the burning  brilliance  of  his  often  half-frenzied  eyes — 
the  broken,  hollow  tones  of  his  voice — his  sudden  starts  of  ap- 
prehension— belie  every  word  he  utters.    He  describes  his  bodily 

sufferings  as  frightful.     Indeed,  Mrs  has  often  told  me, 

that  his  groans  both  disturb  and  alarm  the  neighbours,  even  as 
far  as  on  the  other  side  of  the  street !  The  very  watchman  has 
several  times  been  so  much  startled  in  passing,  at  hearing  his 
groans,  that  he  has  knocked  at  the  door  to  enquire  about  them. 

Neither  Sir ■  nor  I  can  think  of  any  thing  that  seems  likely 

to  assuage  his  agonies.  Even  laudanum  has  failed  us  altogether, 
though  it  has  been  given  in  unprecedented  quantities.  I  think 
1  can  say,  with  truth  and  sincerity,  that  scarce  the  wealth  of  the 
Indies  should  tempt  me  to  undertake  the  management  of  an- 
other such  case.  I  am  losing  my  appetite — loathe  animal  food 
— am  haunted  day  and  night  by  the  piteous  spectacle  which  I 
have  to  encounter  daily  in  Mr  Effingstone.  Oh !  that  Heaven 
would  terminate  his  tortures — surely  he  has  suffered  enough ! 
I  am  sure  he  would  hail  the  prospect  of  death  with  ecstasy ! 

Wednesday,  10. — Poor,  infatuated,  obstinate  Effingstone,  will 
not  yet  allow  me  to  communicate  with  any  of  his  family  or 
friends,  though  he  knows  they  are  almost  distracted  at  not  hear- 
ing from  him,  fancying  hirn  yet  abroad.     Colonel asked 

me  the  other  day,  earnestly,  when  I  last  heard  from  Mr  Effing- 


176  DIART  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICUN. 

stone!  I  wonder  my  conscious  looks  did  not  betray  me.  I 
almost  -wish  tliey  had.  Good  God !  in  what  a  painful  predica- 
ment I  am  placed!  What  am  I  to  do?  Shall  I  tell  them  all 
about  him,  and  disregard  consequences  ?  Oh — no — no  !  how 
can  that  be,  when  my  word  and  honour  are  solemnly  pledged 
to  the  contrary? 

Saturday,  20. — Poor  Effingstone  has  experienced  a  signal 
instance  of  the  ingratitude  and  heartlessness  of  mere  men  of  the 
world.  He  sent  his  man,  some  time  ago,  with  a  confidential 
note  to  Captain ,  formerly  one  of  his  most  intimate  acquain- 
tances, stating  briefly  the  shocking  circumstances  in  which  he 
is  placed,  and  begging  him  to  call  and  see  him.  .  The  captain 
sent  back  a  viva  voce  (.')  message,  that  he  should  feel  happy  in 
calling  on  Mr  Effingstone  in  a  few  days'  time,  and  would  then, 
but  that  he  was  busy  making  up  a  match  at  billiards,  and  balan- 
cing his  betting-book,  &c.  &c.  &c. !  This  day  the  fellow  rode 
up  to  the  door,  and — left  a  card  for  Mr  Effingstone,  without  asking 
to  see  him!  Heartless,  contemptible  thing! — I  drove  up  about 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  after  this  gentleman  had  left.  Poor  Efling- 
stone  could  not  repress  tears  while  informing  me  of  the  above. 

"  Would  you  believe  it,  doctor,"  said  he,  "  that  Captain was 

one  of  my  most  intimate  companions — that  he  has  won  yery  many 
hundred  pounds  of  my  money — and  that  I  have  stood  his  second 
in  a  duel?"    "Oh,  yes — I  could  believe  it  all,  and  much  more!" 

"  My  poor  man,  George,"  he  resumed,  "  is  worth  a  million  of 
such  puppies !  Don't  you  think  the  good,  faithful  fellow  looks 
ill  ?  He  is  at  my  bedside  twenty  times  a  night!  Pray,  try  and 
do  something  for  him!  Pve  left  him  a  trifling  annuity  out  of 
the  wreck  of  my  fortune,  poor  fellow ! "  and  the  rebellious  tears 
again  glistened  in  his  eyes.     His  tortures  are  unmitigated. 

Friday,  26. — Surely,  surely,  I  have  never  seen,  and  seldom 
heard  or  read,  of  such  sufferings  as  the  wretched  Effingstone's. 
He  strives  to  endure  them  with  the  fortitude  and  patience  of  a 
martyr ;  or  rather,  is  struggling  to  exhibit  a  spirit  of  sullen, 
stoical  submission  to  his  fate,  such  as  is  inculcated  in  Arrian's 
Discourses  of  Epictetus,  which  he  reads  almost  all  day.*    His 

*  Though  it  may  ho  thought  far-fetcjied  and  improbable,  to  represent  my 
patient  engaged  in  the  perusal  of  such  works  as  are  mentioned  in  the  text,  I  can 


A  MAN  ABOUT  TOWN. — CHAPTER  XII.  177 

anguish  is  so  excruciating  and  uninterrupted,  that  I  am  astonish- 
ed how  he  retains  the  use  of  his  reason.  All  power  of  locomotion 
has  disappeared  long  ago.  The  only  parts  of  his  body  he  can 
move  now,  are  his  fingers,  toes,  and  head — which  latter  he 
sometimes  shakes  about,  in  a  sudden  ecstasy  of  pain,  with  such 
frightful  violence  as  would,  one  would  think,  almost  suffice  to 
sever  it  from  his  shoulders  !     The  flesh  of  the  lower  extremities 

— the  flesh  *     *  Horrible !    All  sensation  has  ceased  in 

them  for  a  fortnight! — He  describes  the  agonies  about  his  sto- 
mach and  bowels  to  be  as  though  wolves  were  ravenously 
gnawing  and  mangling  all  within. 

Oh,  my  God !  if  "  men  about  town, "  in  London,  or  elsewhere, 
could  but  see  the  hideous  spectacle  Mr  Effingstone  presents, 
surely  it  would  palsy  them  in  the  pursuit  of  ruin,  and  scare 
them  into  the  paths  of  virtue ! 

Mrs ,  his  landlady,  is  so  ill  with  attendance  on  him — 

almost  poisoned  by  the  foul  air  in  his  chamber — that  she  is  gone 
to  the  house  of  a  relative  for  a  few  weeks,  in  a  distant  part 
of  the  town,  having  first  engaged  one  of  the  poor  neighbours  to 
supply  her  place  as  Mr  EflSngstone's  nurse.  The  people  oppo- 
site, and  on  each  side  of  the  house,  are  complaining  again, 
loudly,  of  the  strange  nocturnal  noises  heard  in  Mr  Effingstone's 
room.     They  are  his  groanings  !         *         * 

Tuesday,  31. — Again  I  have  visited  that  scene  of  loathsome- 
ness and  horror — Mr  Effingstone's  chamber.  The  nurse  and 
George  told  me  he  had  been  raving  deliriously  all  night  long. 
I  found  him  incredibly  altered  in  countenance,  so  much  so,  that 
I  should  hardly  have  recognized  his  features.  He  was  mum- 
bling with  his  eyes  closed,  when  I  entered  the  room. 

"  Doctor  ! "  he  exclaimed  in  a  tone  of  doubt  and  fear,  such  as 
I  had  never  known  from  him  before,  "  you  have  not  heard  me 
abuse  the  Bible  lately,  have  you  ? '' 

"  Not  very  lately,  Mr  Effingstone,"  I  replied,  pointedly. 

assure  the  reader,  that  I  have  known  several  men  of  the  world — especially  if 
with  any  pretension  to  scholarship — endeavouring  to  steel  themselves  against 
the  pain  and  terrors  of  the  deathbed,  by  an  earnest  study  of  the  old  stoic  philo- 
sophy ;  any  thing,  of  course,  being  better  than  the  mild  and  glorious  consoVi- 
tions  of  Christianity 

1  M 


178  DIAKT  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN, 

"  Good,"  said  he  with  his  usual  decision  and  energy  of  man- 
ner. "  There  are  awful  things  in  that  book — aren't  there, 
doctor?" 

"  Many  very  awful  things  there  are  indeed, "  I  replied,  with  a 
sigh. 

"  I  thought  so — I  thought  so.     Pray" his  manner  grew 

suddenly  perturbed,  and  he  paused  for  a  moment  as  if  to  recol- 
lect himself — "  Pray — pray" again  he  paused,  but  could  not 

succeed  in  disguising  his  trepidation,  "  do  you  happen  to  recol- 
lect whether  there  are  such  words  in  the  Bible  as — as  '  many 

STKIPES  ? ' " 

"  Yes,  there  are ;  and  they  form  part  of  a  very  fearful  pas- 
sage," said  I,  quoting  the  verse  as  nearly  as  I  could.  He  listened 
silently.  His  features  swelled  with  suppressed  emotion.  There 
was  hon-or  in  his  eye. 

"Doctor,  what  a — a — remark — able — nay,  hideous  dream  I 
had  last  night !  I  thought  a  fiend  came  and  took  me  to  a  gloomy 
belfry,  or  some  other  such  place,  and  muttered  '  Many  stripes — 
many  stripes,'  in  my  ear;  and  the  huge  bell  tolled  me  into 
madness,  for  all  the  damned  danced  around  me  to  the  sound  of 
it ;  ha,  ha ! "  He  added,  with  a  faint  laugh,  after  a  pause, 
"  There's  something  cu — cur — cursedly  odd  in  the  coincidence, 
isn't  there?  How  it  would  have  frightened  some!"  he  con- 
tinued, a  forced  smile  flitting  over  his  haggard  features,  as  if  in 
mockery.  "  But  it  is  easily  to  be  accounted  for — the  Intimate 
connexion — sympathy — between  mind  and  matter,  reciprocally 

affecting  each  other — affecting  each ha,  ha,  ha  !  — Doctor, 

it's  no  use  keeping  up  this  damned  farce  any  longer.     Human 

nature  won't  bear  it.     D n !  Pm  going  down  to  Hell  !  I 

am ! "  said  he,  almost  yelling  out  the  words.  I  had  never  before 
witnessed  such  a  fearful  manifestation  of  his  feelings !  I  almost 
started  from  the  chair  on  which  I  was  sitting. 

"  Why" — he  continued,  in  nearly  the  same  tone  and  manner, 
as  if  he  had  lost  all  self-control,  "  what  is  it  that  has  maddened 
me  all  my  life,  and  left  me  sober  only  at  this  ghastly  hour — too 
late  ?  "  My  agitation  would  not  permit  me  to  do  more  than  whis- 
per a  few  unconnected  words  of  encouragement,  almost  inaudible 
to  myself.     In  about  five  minutes'  time,  neither  of  us  having 


A  MAN  ABOUT  TOWN. — CHAPTER  XII.  179 

broken  the  silence  of  the  interval,  he  said  in  a  calmer  tone, 
"Doctor,  be  good  enough  to  wipe  my  forehead — will  you?"  I 
did  so.  "  You  know  better,  doctor,  of  course,  than  to  attach  any 
importance  to  the  nonsensical  rantings  extorted  by  deathbed 
agonies,  eh  ?  Don't  dying  people,  at  least  those  who  die  in  great 
pain,  almost  always  express  themselves  so  ?  How  apt  supersti- 
tion is  to  rear  its  dismal  flag  over  the  prostrate  energies  of  one's 
soul,  when  the  body  is  racked  by  tortures  like  mine !  Oh ! 
— oh  ! — oh ! — that  maddening  sensation  about  the  centre  of  my 
stomach  !  Doctor" — he  added,  after  a  pause,  with  a  grim  air — 
"go  home,  and  forget  all  the  stuff  you  have  heard  me  utter 
to-day — '  Richard's  himself  again  ! '  " 

Thursday,  2d  February. — On  arriving  this  morning  at 

Row,  I  was  shown  into  the  back  parlour,  where  sat  the  nurse, 
very  sick  and  faint.  She  begged  me  to  procure  a  substitute,  for 
that  she  was  nearly  killed  herself,  and  nothing  should  tempt  her 
to  continue  in  her  present  situation.  Poor  thing !  I  did  not 
wonder  at  it.  I  told  her  I  would  send  a  nurse  from  one  of  the 
hospitals  that  evening ;  and  then  enquired  what  sort  of  a  night 
Mr  Effingstone  had  passed.  "  Terrible,"  she  said ;  "  groaning, 
shaking,  and  roaring  all  night  long — '  Many  stripes  ! ' — '  Many 
stripes  ! ' — '  O  God  of  mercy  ! '  and  enquiring  perpetually  for 
you."  I  repaired  to  the  fatal  chamber  immediately,  though 
latterly  my  spirits  began  to  fail  me  whenever  I  approached  the 
door.  I  was  going  to  take  my  usual  seat  in  the  arm-chair  by 
the  bedside. 

"  Don't  sit  there — don't  sit  there,"  groaned,  or  rather  gasped 
Mr  Effingstone ;  "  for  a  hideous  being  sat  in  that  chair  all  night 
long" — every  muscle  in  his  face  crept  and  shrunk  with  horror 
— "muttering,  '■Many  stripes!''  Doctor,  order  that  blighted 
chair  to  be  taken  away,  broken  up,  and  burnt,  every  sphnter  of 
it!  Let  no  human  being  ever  sit  in  it  again!  And  give  in- 
structions to  the  people  about  me  never  to  desert  me  for  a 
moment — or — or — carry  me  off! — they  will!  *  *  *  Ty[y 
frenzied  fancy  conjures  up  the  ghastliest  objects  that  can  scare 
man  into  madness."     He  paused. 

"  Great  God,  doctor !  suppose,  after  all,  what  the  Bible  says 
should  prove  true!" — he  literally  gnashed  his  teeth  and  looked 


180  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

a  truer  image  of  Despair  than  I  have  ever  seen  represented  in 
pictures,  on  the  stage,  or  in  real  life. 

"Why,  Mr  Effingstone,  if  it  should,  it  need  not  be  to  your  sor- 
row, unless  you  choose  to  make  it  so,"  said  I  in  a  soothing  tone. 

"Needn't  it,  needn't  it?"  with  an  abstracted  air — "Needn't 
it?  Oh,  good! — hope — there,  there  it  sat,  all  night  long — 
there!  I've  no  recollection  of  any  distinct  personality,  and  yet 
I  thought  it  sometimes  looked  like— Of  course,"  he  added,  after 
a  pause,  and  a  sigh  of  exhaustion — "  of  course  these  phantoms, 
or  similar  ones,  must  often  have  been  described  to  you  by  dying 
people — eh?" 

Friday  3d. — *  *  *  He  was  in  a  strangely  altered  mood 
to-day;  for  though  his  condition  might  be  aptly  described  by 
the  words  "dead  alive,". his  calm  demeanour,  his  tranquillized 
features,  and  the  mild  expression  of  his  eye,  assured  me  he  be- 
lieved what  he  said,  when  he  told  me  that  his  disorder  had 
"taken  a  turn," — that  the  "crisis  was  past;"  and  he  should 
recover!  Alas!  was  it  ever  known  that  dead  mortified  ilesh  ever 
resumed  its  life  and  functions !  To  save  himself  from  the  spring 
of  a  tiger,  he  could  not  have  moved  a  foot  or  finger,  and  that 
for  the  last  week !  Poor,  poor  Mr  Effingstone  began  to  thank 
me  for  my  attentions  to  him  during  his  illness;  said,  he  "owed 
his  life  to  my  consummate  skill;"  and  he  would  "trumpet  my 
fame  to  the  Andes,  if  I  succeeded  in  bringing  him  through!" 

"  It  has  been  a  very  horrible  affair,  doctor — hasn't  it  ? " 
said  he. 

"  Very,  very,  Mr  Effingstone ;  and  it  is  my  duty  to  tell  you, 
there  is  yet  much  horror  before  you  !  " 

"  Ah !  well,  well !  I  see  you  don't  want  me  to  be  too  sanguine 
— too  impatient.  It's  kindly  meant — very!  Doctor,  when  I 
leave  here,  I  leave  it  an  altered  man  !  Come,  does  that  not  gra- 
tify you,  eh  ?  " 

I  could  not  help  a  sigh.  He  would  be  an  altered  man,  and  that 
very  shortly !  He  mistook  the  feelings  which  prompted  the  sigh. 
"  Mind — not  that  I'm  going  to  commence  saint — far,  oh,  very 
far  from  it ;  but — but  I  don't  despair  of  being  at  some  time  or 
other  a  Christian.  I  don't,  upon  my  honour !  The  New  Testa- 
ment is  a  sublime — a — I  believe — a  revelation  of  the  Almighty. 


A  MAN  ABOUT  TOWN. CHAPTER  XII.  181 

My  heart  is  quite  humbled;  yet — mark  rae — I  don't  mean 
exactly  to  say  I'm  a  believer — not  by  any  means ;  but  I  can't 
help  thinking  that  my  enquiries  might  tend  to  make  me  so." 
I  hinted  that  all  these  were  indications  of  bettered  feelings.  I 
could  say  no  more. 

"  I'm  bent  on  leading  a  different  life  to  what  I  have  led  before, 
at  all  events !  Let  me  see — I'll  tell  you  what  I  have  been  chalk- 
ing out  during  the  night.     I  shall  go  to  Lord 's  villa  in 

,  whither  I  have  often  been  invited,  and  shall  read  Lardner 

and  Paley,  and  get  them  up  thoroughly — I  will,  by ! " 

"  Mr  EfBngstone,  pardon  me" 

"  Ah !  I  understand — 'twas  a  mere  slip  of  the  tongue ;  what's 
bred  in  the  bone,  you  know" 

"  I  was  not  alluding  to  the  oath,  Mr  EfBngstone ;  but — but 
it  is  my  duty  to  warn  you" 

"  Ah  !  that  I'm  not  going  the  right  way  to  work — eh  ?  Well, 

at  all  events,  I'll  consult  a  clergyman.     The  Bishop  of is 

a  distant  connexion  of  our  family,  you  know — I'll  ask  his  advice! 

*  *  Oh,  doctor,  look  at  that  rich — that  blessed  light  of  the 
sun !  Oh,  draw  aside  the  window  curtain — let  me  feel  it  on  me ! 
What  an  image  of  the  beneficence  of  the  Deity ! — a  smile  flung 
from  his  face  over  the  universe  ! "  *  I  drew  aside  the  curtain. 
It  was  a  cold,  clear,  frosty  day,  and  the  sun  shone  into  the  room 
with  cheerful  lustre.  Oh !  how  awfully  distinct  were  the  rava- 
ges which  his  wasted  features  had  sustained !  His  soul  seemed 
to  expand  beneath  the  genial  influence  of  the  sunbeams ;  and 
he  again  expressed  his  confident  expectations  of  recovery. 

"  Mr  Efiingstone,  do  not  persist  in  cherishing  false  hopes ! 
Once  for  all,"  said  I,  with  all  the  deliberate  solemnity  I  could 
throw  into  my  manner,  "  I  assure  you,  in  the  presence  of  God, 
that,  unless  a  miracle  takes  place,  it  is  utterly  impossible  for 
you  to  recover,  or  even  to  last  a  week  longer!"  I  thought  it  had 
killed  him.     His  features  whitened  visibly  as  I  concluded  ;  his 

*  A  provincial  critic  gravely  says  of  this — "A  fine,  a  noble  conceit,  It  must  be 
owned;  but  only  an  expansion  of  one  of  Moore's  in  Latla  Xookh — '  'Twasa 
bright  smile  the  Angel  threw  from  Heaven's  gate.'  "  Whatever  may  be  the 
merit  of  the  expression  in  the  text,  it  cannot  truly  be  charged  with  plagiarism. 
I  never  read  LalUx  Rookh  in  my  life,  nor  ever  saw  or  heard  of  the  above  cited 
passage,  till  it  weis  pointed  out  by  the  Bristol  critic. 


182  DIAET  OP  A  LiTE  PHYSICIAN. 

eye  seemed  to  sink,  and  the  eyelids  fell.  His  lips  presently 
moved,  but  uttered  no  sound.  I  thought  he  had  received  his 
death-stroke,  and  was  immeasurably  shocked  at  its  having  been 
from  my  hands,  even  though  in  the  strict  performance  of  my 
duty.  Half  an  hour's  time,  however,  saw  him  restored  to  nearly 
the  same  state  in  which  he  had  been  previously.  I  begged  him 
to  allow  me  to  send  a  clergyman  to  him,  as  the  best  means  of 
soothing  and  quieting  his  mind  :  but  he  shook  his  head  despond- 
ingly.  I  pressed  my  point,  and  he  said  deliberately,  "  No."  He 
muttered  some  such  words  as,  "  The  Deity  has  determined  on 
my  destruction,  and  is  permitting  his  devils  to  mock  me  with 
hopes  of  this  sort — let  me  go  then  to  my  own  place ! "  In  this 
awful  state  of  mind  I  was  compelled  to  leave  him.  I  sent  a 
clergyman  to  him  in  my  chaise — the  same  whom  I  had  called  to 

visit  Mr ,  (alluding  to  the  "  Scholar's  Deathbed ; ")  but  he 

refused  to  see  him,  saying,  that  if  he  presumed  to  force  himself 
into  the  room,  he  would  spit  in  his  face,  though  he  could  not 
rise  to  kick  him  out !  The  temper  of  his  mind  had  changed  into 
something  perfectly  diabolical  since  my  interview  with  him. 

Saturday,  4th. — Really  my  own  health  is  suffering — my  spirits 
are  sinking  through  the  daily  horrors  I  have  to  encounter  at  Mr 
Effingstone's  apartment.  This  morning  I  sat  by  his  bedside  full 
half  an  hour,  listening  to  him  uttering  nothing  but  groans  that 
shook  my  very  soul  within  me.  He  did  not  know  me  when  I 
spoke  to  him,  and  took  no  notice  of  me  whatever.  At  length 
his  groans  were  mingled  with  such  expressions  as  these,  indicat- 
ing that  his  disturbed  fancy  had  wandered  to  former  scenes: — 

"  Oh!  oh!— Pitch  it  into  him.  Bob!     Ten  to  two  on  Crib! 

Horrible ! — These  dice   are   loaded,  Wilmington ;   by ,  I 

know  they  are!  Severis  the  main!  Hal — done,  hy !    *      * 

Hector,  yes — [he  was  alluding  to  a  favourite  race-horse] — 
won't  'bate  a  pound  of  his  price !  Your  Grace  shall  have  him 
for  six  hundred — Forelegs,  only  look  at  them! — There,  there, 

go  it!  away,  away!  neck  and  neck — In,  in,  by  !       *       * 

Hannah!  what  the 's  become  of  her? — drowned?     No,  no, 

no!     What  a  fiend  incarnate  that  Bet is!      *     *     Oh! 

horror,  horror,  horror !  Rottenness!  Oh,  that  some  one  would 
knock  me  on  the  head  and  end  me  I     *    *    Fire,  fire !    Stripes, 


A  MAN  ABOUT  TOWN. — CHAPTER  Xn.  183 

many  stripes — Stuff !     You  didn't  fire  fair.     By ,  you  fired 

before  your  time — [alluding,  I  suppose,  to  a  duel  in  -which  he 
had  been  concerned] — Curse  your  cowardice !  " 

Such  was  the  substance  of  what  he  uttered ;  it  was  in  vain 
that  I  tried  to  arrest  the  torrent  of  vile  recollections. 

"  Doctor,  doctor,  I  shall  die  of  fright!  "  he  exclaimed  an  hour 
afterwards—"  What  do  you  think  happened  to  me  last  night  ? 
I  was  lying  here,  with  the  fire  burnt  very  low,  and  the  candles 
gone  out.  George  was  asleep,  poor  fellow,  and  the  woman  gone 
out  to  get  an  hour's  rest  also.  I  was  looking  about,  and  sud- 
denly saw  the  dim  outline  of  a  table,  set,  as  it  were,  in  the  middle 
of  the  room.  There  were  four  chairs  faintly  visible,  and  three 
ghostly  figures  came  through  that  door  and  sat  in  them,  one  by 
one,  leaving  one  vacant.  They  began  a  sort  of  horrid  whisper- 
ing, more  like  gasping;  they  were  devils,  and  talked  about — 
my  damnation !  The  fourth  chair  was  for  me,  they  said,  and  all 
three  turned  and  looked  me  in  the  face.  Oh !  hideous — shape- 
less— damned ! "     He  uttered  a  shuddering  groan.     *     *     * 

[Here  follows  an  account  of  his  interview  with  his  two  bro- 
thers— the  only  members  of  the  family  (whom  he  had  at  last 
permitted  to  be  informed  of  his  frightful  condition)  that  would 
come  and  see  him.]  *  *  *  Jje  did  little  else  than  rave  and 
howl  in  a  blasphemous  manner,  all  the  while  they  were  present. 
He  seemed  hardly  to  be  aware  of  their  being  his  brothers,  and 
to  forget  the  place  where  he  was.     He  cursed  me — then  Sir 

,  and  his  man  George,  and  charged  us  with  compassing  his 

death,  concealing  his  case  from  his  family,  and  execrating  us  for 
not  allowing  him  to  be  removed  to  the  west  end  of  the  town. 
In  vain  we  assured  him  that  his  removal  was  utterly  impossible 
— the  time  was  past— I  had  oiFered  it  once.  He  gnashed  his 
teeth,  and  spit  at  us  all! — "What !  die — die — Die  in  this  damned 

hole  ? — I  won't  die  here — I  will  go  to  Street.     Take  me 

off! — Devils,  then  do  tou  come  and  carry  me  there! — Come — 
out,  out,  out  upon  you  ! — *  *  * — You  have  killed  me,  all  of 
you! — You're  throttling  me! — You've  put  a  hill  of  iron  on  me — 
Fm  dead — all  my  body  is  dead! — *  *  * — George,  you  mon- 
ster !  why  are  you  ladling  fire  upon  me  ?— Where  do  you  get  it  ? 
— Out,  out — out! — I'm  flooded  with  fire! — Scorched — Scorched' 


184  DIARY  or  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

— *     *     Now — now  for  a  dance  of  devils — Ha — I  see  !  I  see ! 

— There's ,  and ,  and ,  among  them ! — Wliat !  all 

three  of  you  dead — and  damned  before  me  ? — W !     Where 

are  your  loaded  dice? — Filled  with  fire,  eh? — *  * — So,  you 
were  the  three  devils  I  saw  sitting  at  the  table,  eh? — Well,  I  shall 

be  last — but,  by ,  I'll  be  the  chief  of  you ! — I'll  be  king  in 

hell ! — *  * — What — what's  that  fiery  owl  sitting  at  the  bottom 
of  the  bed  for,  eh? — Kick  it  off — strike  it! — Away — out  on 
thee,  thou  imp  of  hell ! — I  shall  make  thee  sing  presently ! — Let 
in  the  snakes — let  the  large  serpents  in — I  love  them  !     I  hear 

them  writhing  up  stairs they  shall  twine  about  my  bed!" 

He  began  to  shake  his  head  violently  from  side  to  side,  his  eyes 
glaring  like  coals  of  fire,  and  his  teeth  gnashing.  I  never  could 
have  imagined  any  thing  half  so  frightful.  What  with  the 
highly  excited  state  of  my  feelings,  and  the  horrible  scents  of 
death  which  were  diffused  about  the  room,  and  to  which  not  the 
strongest  salts  of  ammonia,  used  incessantly,  could  render  me 
insensible,  I  was  obliged  to  leave  abruptly.  I  knew  the  last  act 
of  the  black  tragedy  was  closing  that  night !  I  left  word  with 
the  nurse,  that  so  soon  as  Mr  Effingstone  should  be  released  from 
his  misery,  she  should  get  into  a  hackney-coach,  and  come  to 

my  house. 

******* 

I  lay  tossing  in  bed  all  night  long — my  mind  suffused  with 
the  horrors  of  the  scene  of  which  I  have  endeavoured  to  give 
some  faint  idea  above.  Were  I  to  record  half  what  I  recollect 
of  his  hideous  ravings,  it  would  scare  myself  to  read  it ! — I  will 
not !  Let  them  and  their  memory  perish !  Let  them  never 
meet  the  eye  or  ear  of  man ! — I  fancied  myself  lying  side  by 
side  with  the  loathsome  thing  bearing  the  name  of  Effingstone  ; 
that  I  could  not  move  away  from  him ;  that  his  head,  shaking 
from  side  to  side,  as  I  have  mentioned  above,  was  battering  my 
cheeks  and  forehead;  in  short,  I  was  almost  beside  myself!  I 
was  in  the  act  of  uttering  a  fervent  prayer  to  the  Deity,  that 
even  in  the  eleventh  hour — the  eleventh  hour— when  a  violent 
ringing  of  the  night-bell  made  me  spring  out  9f  bed.  It  was  as 
I  suspected.  The  nurse  had  come;  and,  already,  all  was  over. 
My  heart  seemed   to  grow  suddenly  cold  and  motionless.    I 


A  MAN  ABOUT  TOWN. —  CHAPTER  Xn.  185 

dressed  myself,  and  went  down  into  the  drawing-room.  On  the 
sofa  lay  the  woman  :  she  had  fainted.  On  recovering  her  senses, 
I  asked  her  if  all  was  over;  she  nodded  with  an  affrighted 
expression !  A  little  wine  and  water  restored  her  self-posses- 
sion.    "  When  did  it  occur  ?"  I  asked.     "  Exactly  as  the  clock 

struck  three,"   she  replied.     "  George,    and  I,  and  Mr  ■, 

the  apothecary,  whom  we  had  sent  for  out  of  the  next  street, 
were  standing  round  the  bed.  Mr  Hardy  lay  tossing  his  head 
about  for  nearly  an  hour,  saying  all  manner  of  horrible  things. 
A  few  minutes  before  three  he  gave  a  loud  howl,  and  shouted, 
'  Here,  you  wretches — why  do  you  put  the  candles  out — here — 
here — ^I'm  dying ! '  " 

"  '  God's  peace  be  with  you,  sir ! — the  Lord  have  mercy  on 
you  ! '  " — we  groaned,  like  people  distracted. 

"  '  Ha,  ha,  ha ! — D — n  you ! — D — n  you  all !— Dying — D — n 
me  !  I  won't  die ! — I  won't  die  ! — No — No ! — D — n  me — I  won't 

— won't — woN't he  gasped  and  made  a  noise  as  if  he  was 

choked.'     We  looked.     Yes,  he  was  gone  ! " 

He  was  interred  in  an  obscure  dissenting  burying-ground  in 
the  immediate  neighbourhood,  under  the  name  of  Hardy,  for  his 
family  refused  to  recognize  him. 

So  lived — so  died,  "  A  Man  about  Town  ;  "  and  so,  alas  !  will 
yet  live  and  die  many  another  man  about  town  ! 


Nothwithstanding  the  scrupulous  and  anxious  care  with  which 
the  foregoing  fearful  narrative  was  prepared  for  the  public  eye, 
so  that  a  lively  picture  of  the  horrors  of  vif  e  might  be  drawn, 
at  the  same  time  that  a  veil  was  thrown  over  the  more  ghastly 
and  revolting  features,  in  the  particular  instance — the  Editor 
regrets  to  state,  that  loud,  and,  in  some  instances,  angry  com- 
plaints have  been  made  against  it,  in  one  or  two  influential  and 
respectable  quarters  ;  and  in  others,  such  atrocious  misrepresen- 
tations of  the  author's  design,  accompanied  by  insulting,  nay, 
beastly  insinuations,  as  have,  he  fears,  succeeded  in  exciting 
suspicion  and  disgust  in  the  minds  of  those  who  did  not  read 
the  paper  till  after  they  read  the  cruel  and  lying  character  fixed 
upon  it.  All  those  with  whom  the  Editor  has  conversed,  have, 
without  exception,  declared  they  read  the  paper  with  feelings  of 


186  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN, 

simple  unmitigated  grief  and  agony — in  the  spirit  aimed  at  by  the 
writer.  The  Editor  further  states,  that  the  sketch  had  in  its  favour 
the  suffrages  of  most  of  the  leading  prints  in  town  and  country, 
some  of  whom  were  pleased  to  express  themselves  in  terms  of 
such  flattering  eulogy,  as  even  the  writer  of  the  Diary  might 
consider  extravagant.  Three  other  such  attacks  were  made  upon 
it  by  London  Journals,  as  sink  their  perpetrators  beneath  the 
desert  of  notice.  Woe  be  to  those  polluted  minds  and  degraded 
hearts,  that  could  attach  such  meanings  as  would  fain  have  been 
fastened  on  certain  portions  of  "  The  Man  about  Town ! " 

Sincerum  est  nisi  vas,  quodcunque  infundis  acescit. 

A  word  to  those  who  may  think  its  statements  exaggerated : 
Would  to  Heaven  that  he  who  suspects  as  much,  but  once  had 
been  beside  the  frightful  deathbed  of  Effingstone !  Talk  of 
exaggeration ! — that  "  the  experience  of  mankind  does  not,  nor 
ever  did,  furnish  such  scenes ! "  *  Why,  the  Editor  knows  of  such 
a  tale  as,  if  told,  might  make  a  devil  to  leap  with  horror  in  the 
fires ! — one,  that  a  man  might  listen  to  with  quaking  heart  and 
creeping  flesh,  and  prayers  to  God  that  it  might  be  forgotten ! 

In  conclusion,  the  Editor  knows  well,  that,  despite  the  small 
cavillers  above  spoken  of,  this  narrative  has  wrought  the  most 
satisfactory  effects  upon  minds  and  hearts  by  themselves  thought 
irreclaimably  lost :  good  evidence  of  which  lies  now  in  his  escru- 
toire,  and  may  possibly  be  appended  to  some  future  edition  of 
this  work.f  And  he  knows  further,  that  "  The  Man  about 
Town"  will continueiong  to beabeacon,  warningoff  from  guiltand 
ruin  the  "  simple-hearted,  the  unwary,  the  beguiled."  If  there 
were  nothing  else  in  these  volumes,  the  thought  of  writing  "  The 
Man  about  Town  "  would  bring  consolation  to  the  deathbed  of 
its  writer,  as  having  endeavoured  to  render  lasting  service  to 
society. 

*  American  Paper. 

1 1  am  not  at  liberty  to  do  so,  yet. — Ed.  (4th  Edition.) 


DEATH  AT  THE  TOILET. CHAPTER  XIII.  187 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

DEATH  AT  THE  TOILET. 

"  'Tis  no  use  talking  to  me,  mother,  I  will  go  to  Mrs  P 's 

party  to-night,  if  I  die  for  it — that's  flat !     You  know  as  -vrell 

as  I  do,  that  Lieutenant  N is  to  be  there,  and  he's  going  to 

leave  town  to-morrow — so  up  I  go  to  dress." 

"  Charlotte,  why  will  you  be  so  obstinate  ?  You  know  how 

poorly  you  have  been  all  the  week ;  and  Dr says,  late  hours 

are  the  worst  things  in  the  world  for  you. " 

"  Pshaw,  mother  !  nonsense,  nonsense." 

"  Be  persuaded  for  once,  now,  I  beg !  Oh,  dear,  dear,  what  a 
night  it  is  too — it  pours  with  rain,  and  blows  a  perfect  hurricane ! 
You'll  be  wet,  and  catch  cold,  rely  on  it.  Come  now,  won't  you 
stop  and  keep  me  company  to  night  ?     That's  a  good  girl ! " 

"  Some  other  night  will  do  as  well  for  that,  you  know ;  for 

now  I'll  go  to  Mrs  P 's  if  it  rains  cats  and  dogs.     So  up — 

up — up  I  go  ! "  singing  jauntily. 

Oh !  she  shall  dance  all  dress'd  in  white, 
So  ladylike. 

Such  were,  very  nearly,  the  words,  and  such  the  manner,  in 
which  Miss  J expressed  her  determination  to  act  in  defi- 
ance of  her  mother's  wishes  and  entreaties.  She  was  the  only 
child  of  her  widowed  mother,  and  had,  but  a  few  weeks  before, 
completed  her  twenty-sixth  year,  with  yet  no  other  prospect 
before  her  than  bleak  single  blessedness.  A  weaker,  more  fri- 
volous, and  conceited  creature  never  breathed — the  torment  of 
her  amiable  parent,  the  nuisance  of  her  acquaintance.  Though 
her  mother's  circumstances  were  very  straitened,  sutBcing  barely 
to  enable  them  to  maintain  a  footing  in  what  is  called  the  mid- 
dling genteel  class  of  society,  this  young  woman  contrived,  by 
some  means  or  other,  to  gratify  her  penchant  for  dress,  and 
gadded  about  here,  there,  and  every  where,  the  most  showily- 
dressed  person  in  the  neighbourhood.  Though  far  from  being 
even  pretty-faced,  or  having  any  pretensions  to  a  good  figure — 


188  DIART  or  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

for  she  both  stooped  and  was  skinny — she  yet  believed  herself 
handsome  ;  and  by  a  vulgar,  flippant  forwardness  of  demeanour, 
especially  when  in  mixed  company,  extorted  such  attentions  as 
persuaded  her  that  others  thought  so. 

For  one  or  two  years  she  had  been  an  occasional  patient  of 
mine.  The  settled  paUor — -the  tallowness  of  her  complexion, 
conjointly  with  other  symptoms,  evidenced  the  existence  of  a 
liver  complaint ;  and  the  last  visits  I  had  paid  her,  were  in  con- 
sequence of  frequent  sensations  of  oppression  and  pain  in  the 
chest,  which  clearly  indicated  some  organic  disease  of  her  heart. 
I  saw  enough  to  warrant  me  in  warning  her  mother  of  the  pos- 
sibility of  her  daughter's  sudden  death  from  this  cause,  and  the 
imminent  peril  to  which  she  exposed  herself  by  dancing,  late 
hours,  &c.;  but  Mrs  J 's  remonstrances,  gentle  and  affec- 
tionate as  they  always  were,  were  thrown  away  upon  her  head- 
strong daughter. 

It  was  striking  eight  by  the  church  clock,  when  Miss  J , 

humming  the  words  of  the  song  above  mentioned,  lit  her  cham- 
ber-candle by  her  mother's,  and  withdrew  to  her  room  to  dress, 
soundly  rating  the  servant-girl  by  the  way,  for  not  having 
starched  some  article  or  other  which  she  intended  to  have  worn 
that  evening.  As  her  toilet  was  usually  a  long  and  laborious 
business,  it  did  not  occasion  much  surprise  to  her  mothei',  who 
was  sitting  by  the  fire  in  their  little  parlour,  reading  some  book 
of  devotion,  that  the  church  chimes  announced  the  first  quarter 
past  nine  o'clock,  without  her  daughter's  making  her  appear- 
ance. The  noise  she  had  made  overhead  in  walking  to  and 
fro  to  her  drawers,  dressing-table,  &e.,  had  ceased  about  half 
an  hour  ago,  and  her  mother  supposed  she  was  then  engaged 
at  her  glass,  adjusting  her  hair,  and  preparing  her  complexion. 

"  Well,  I  wonder  what  can  make  Charlotte  so  very  careful 

about  her  dress  to  night !  "  exclaimed  Mrs  J ,  removing  her 

eyes  from  the  book,  and  gazing  thoughtfully  at  the  fire;  "  Oh! 

it  must  be  because  young  Lieutenant  N is  to  be  there. 

Well,  I  was  young  myself  once,  and  it's  very  excusable  in  Char- 
lotte— heigho!  "  She  heard  the  wind  howling  so  dismally 
without,  that  she  drew  together  the  coals  of  her  brisk  fire,  and 


DEATH  AT  THE  TOILET^— CHAPTER  XIII.  189 

was  laying  down  the  poker,  when  the  clock  of  church 

struck  the  second  quarter  after  nine. 

"  Why,  what  in  the  world  can  Charlotte  be  doing  all  this 
while?"  she  again  enquired.  She  listened — "I  have  not  heard 
her  moving  for  the  last  three  quarters  of  an  hour !  I'll  call  the 
maid  and  ask."     She  rang  the  bell,  and  the  servant  appeared. 

"  Betty,  Miss  J is  not  gone  yet,  is  she  ?  " 

"  La,  no,  ma'am, "  replied  the  girl ;  "  I  took  up  the  curling- 
irons  only  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ago,  as  she  had  put  one  of 
her  curls  out;  and  she  said  she  should  soon  be  ready.  She's 
burst  her  new  muslin  dress  behind,  and  that  has  put  her  into  a 
way,  ma'am." 

"  Go  up  to  her  room,  then,  Betty,  and  see  if  she  wants  any 

thing  ;  and  tell  her  it's  half- past  nine  o'clock, "  said  Mrs  J . 

The  servant  accordingly  went  up  stairs,  and  knocked  at  the 
bedroom  door,  once,  twice,  thrice,  but  received  no  answer. 
There  was  a  dead  silence,  except  when  the  wind  shook  the  win- 
dow.    Could  Miss  J have  fallen  asleep  ?  Oh,  impossible ! 

She  knocked  again,  but  unsuccessful!}'',  as  before.  She  became 
a  little  flustered  ;  and,  after  a  moment's  pause,  opened  the  door, 

and  entered.  There  was  Miss  J sitting  at  the  glass,  "  Why, 

la,  ma'am  !  "  commenced  Betty  in  a  petulant  tone,  walking  up  to 
her,  "here  have  I  been  knocking  for  these  five  minutes,  and" 

Betty  staggered,  horror-struck  to  the  bed,  and,  uttering  a 

loud   shriek,  alarmed   Mrs   J ,  who   instantly  tottered   up 

stairs,  almost  palsied  with  fright. — Miss  J was  dead  ! 

I  was  there  within  a  few  minutes,  for  my  house  was  not  more 
than  two  streets  distant.  It  was  a  stormy  night  in  March  ;  and 
the  desolate  aspect  of  things  without — deserted  streets — the 
dreary  howling  of  the  wind,  and  the  incessant  pattering  of  the 
rain,  contributed  to  cast  a  gloom  over  my  mind,  when  connected 
with  the  intelligence  of  the  awful  event  that  had  summoned  me 
out,  which  was  deepened  into  horror  by  the  spectacle  I  was 

doomed  to  witness.     On  reaching  the  house,  I  found  Mrs  J 

in  violent  hysterics,  surrounded  by  several  of  her  neighbours, 
who  had  been  called  in  to  her  assistance.  I  repaired  instantly 
to  the  scene  of  death,  and  beheld  what  I  shall  never  forget.  The 
room  was  occupied  by  a  white-curtained  bed.   There  was  but  one 


190  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

window,  and  before  it  was  a  table,  on  which  stood  a  looking- 
glass,  hung  with  a  little  white  drapery  ;  and  various  articles  of 
the  toilet  lay  scattered  about — pins,  brooches,  curling-papers, 
ribands,  gloves,  &c.     An  arm-chair  was  drawn  to  this  table, 

and  in  it  sat  Miss  J ,  stone  dead.     Her  head  rested  upon 

her  right  hand,  her  elbow  supported  by  the  table ;  while  her 
left  hung  down  by  her  side,  grasping  a  pair  of  curling-irons. 
Each  of  her  wrists  was  encircled  by  a  showy  gilt  bracelet. 
She  was  dressed  in  a  white  muslin  frock,  with  a  little  bordering 
of  blonde.  Her  face  was  turned  towards  the  glass  which,  by 
the  light  of  the  expiring  candle,  reflected  with  frightful  fidelity 
the  clammy  fixed  features,  daubed  over  with  rouge  and  carmine. 
— the  fallen  lower  jaw — and  the  eyes  directed  full  into  the  glass, 
with  a  cold,  dull  stare,  that  was  appalling.  On  examining  the 
countenance  more  narrowly,  I  thought  I  detected  the  traces 
of  a  smirk  of  conceit  and  self-complacency,  which  not  even  the 
palsying  touch  of  death  could  wholly  obliterate.  The  hair  of 
the  corpse,  all  smooth  and  glossy,  was  curled  with  elaborate 
precision  ;  and  the  skinny  sallow  neck  was  encircled  with  a  string 
of  glistening  pearls.  The  ghastly  visage  of  death,  thus  leering 
through  the  tinselry  of  fashion — the  "  vain  show"  of  artificial 
joy — was  a  horrible  mockery  of  the  fooleries  of  life ! 

Indeed,  it  was  a  most  humiliating  and  shocking  spectacle! 
Poor  creature !  struck  dead  in  the  very  act  of  sacrificing  at  the 
shrine  of  female  vanity ! — She  must  have  been  dead  for  some 
time,  perhaps  for  twenty  minutes  or  half  an  hour,  when  1 
arrived,  for  nearly  all  the  animal  heat  had  deserted  the  body, 
which  was  rapidly  stiffening.  I  attempted,  but  in  vain,  to  draw 
a  little  blood  from  the  arm.  Two  or  three  women  present  pro- 
ceeded to  remove  the  corpse  to  the  bed,  for  the  purpose  of  laying 
it  out.  What  strange  passiveness !  No  resistance  offered  to  them 
while  straightening  the  bent  right  arm,  and  binding  the  jaws 
together  with  a  faded  white  riband,  which  Miss  J had  des- 
tined for  her  waist  that  evening ! 

On  examination  of  the  body,  we  found  that  death  had  been 
occasioned  by  disease  of  the  heart.  Her  life  might  have  been 
protracted,  possibly,  for  years,  had  she  but  taken  my  advice, 
and  that  of  her  mother.     I  have  seen  many  hundreds  of  corpses, 


THE  TURNED  HEAD. — CHAPTER  XIV.  191 

as  well  in  the  calm  composure  of  natural  death,  as  mangled  and 
distorted  by  violence  ;  but  never  have  I  seen  so  startling  a  satire 
upon  human  vanity,  so  repulsive,  unsightly,  and  loathsome  a 
spectacle,  as  a  corpse  dressed  for  a  ball! 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


THE  TDRNED  HEAD, 


Hypochondriasis,*  Janus-like,  has  two  faces — a  melancholy 
and  a  laughable  one.  The  former,  though  oftener  seen  in  actual 
life,  does  not  present  itself  so  frequently  to  the  notice  of  the 
medical  practitioner  as  the  latter;  though,  in  point  of  fact,  one 
as  imperatively  calls  for  his  interference  as  the  other.  It  may 
be  safely  asserted,  that  a  permanently  morbid  mood  of  mind 
invariably  indicates  a  disordered  state  of  some  part  or  other  of 
the  physical  system;  and  which  of  the  two  forms  of  hypochon- 
dria will  manifest  itself  in  a  particular  case,  depends  altogether 
upon  the  mental  idiosyncrasy  of  the  patient.  Those  of  a  dull, 
phlegmatic  temperament,  unstirred  by  intermixture  and  collision 
with  the  bustling  activities  of  life,  addicted  to  sombrous  trains 
of  reflection,  and,  by  a  kind  of  sympathy,  always  looking  on  the 
gloomy  side  of  things,  generally  sink,  at  some  period  or  other  of 
their  lives,  into  the  "  Slough  of  Despond  " — as  old  Bunyan  sig- 
nificantly terms  it — from  whence  they  are  seldom  altogether 
extricated.  Religious  enthusiasts  constitute  by  far  the  largest 
portion  of  those  afflicted  with  this  species  of  hypochondria — 
instance  the  wretched  Cowper ;  and  such  I  have  never  known 
entirely  disabused  of  their  dreadful  fantasies.  Those,  again,  of 
a  gay  and  lively  fancy,  ardent  temperament,  and  droll,  grotesque 
appetencies,  exhibit  the  laughable  aspect  of  hypochondriasis. 
In  such,  you  may  expect  conceits  of  the  most  astounding  ab- 

*  Arising,  as  its  name  imports,  from  disease  in  tlie  hypochondres,  (i'^o- 
;go>Bf  OJ,)  !■  e.  the  viscera  lying  under  tlie  cartilage  of  the  breast-bone  and  falsa 
ribs,  the  liver,  spleen,  Ike 


192  DIAKT  or  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

surdity  that  could  possibly  take  possession  of  the  topsy-turvieJ 
intellects  of  a  confirmed  lunatic ;  and  persisted  in  with  a  perti- 
nacity— a  dogged  defiance  of  evidence  to  the  contrary — -which  is 
itself  as  exquisitely  ludicrous,  as  distressing  and  provoking. 
There  is  generally  preserved  an  amazing  consistency  in  the  delu- 
sion, in  spite  of  the  incessant  rebuttals  of  sensation.  In  short, 
vrhen  once  a  crotchet,  of  such  a  sort  as  that  hereafter  mentioned, 
is  fairly  entertained  in  the  fancy,  the  patient  will  not  let  it  go! 
It  is  cases  of  this  kind  -which  baffle  the  adroitest  medical  tacti- 
cian. For  my  own  part,  I  have  had  to  deal  with  several  during 
the  course  of  my  practice,  -which,  if  described  coolly  and  faith- 
fully on  paper,  would  appear  preposterously  incredible  to  a  non- 
professional reader.  Such  may  possibly  be  the  fate  of  the 
following.  I  have  given  it  with  a  minuteness  of  detail,  in  seve- 
ral parts,  which  I  think  is  warranted  by  the  interesting  nature 
of  the  case,  by  the  rarity  of  such  narratives,  and,  above  all,  by 
the  peculiar  character  and  talents  of  the  well-kno-wn  individual 
who  is  the  patient ;  and  I  am  convinced  that  no  one  would 
laugh  more  heartily  over  it  than  himself — had  he  not  long  lain 
quiet  in  his  grave ! 

You  could  scarcely  look  on  N without  laughing.    There 

was  a  sorry  sort  of  humorous  expression  in  his  odd  and  ugly 
features,  which  suggested  to  you  the  idea  that  he  was  always 
struggling  to  repel  some  joyous  emotion  or  other,  with  painful 
effort.  There  was  a  rich  light  of  intellect  in  his  eye,  which  was 
dark  and  full ;  you  felt  when  its  glance  was  settled  upon  you — 
and  there  it  remained  concentrated,  at  the  expense  of  all  the 
other  features;  for  the  clumsy  ridge  of  eye-bone  impending  sul- 
lenly over  his  eyes — the  Pitt-like  nose,  looking  like  a  finger- 
and-thumb-fuU  of  dough  drawn  out  from  the  pliant  mass,  -with 
two  ill-formed  holes  inserted  in  the  bulbous  extremity — and  his 
large,  liquorish,  shapeless  lips — looked,  altogether,  any  thing 
but  refined  or  intellectual.  He  was  a  man  of  fortune — an  ob- 
stinate bachelor — and  educated  at  Cambridge,  where  he  attained 
considerable  distinction ;  and,  at  the  period  of  his  introduction 
to  the  reader,  was  in  his  thirty-eighth  or  fortieth  year.  If  I 
were  to  mention  his  name,  it  would  recall  to  the  literary  reader 


THE  TURNED  HEAD. CHAPTER  XIV.  193 

many  excellent,  and  some  admirable  portions  of  literature,  for 
the  perusal  of  which  he  has  to  thank  N— . 

The  prevailing  complexion  of  his  mind  was  sombrous;  but 
played  on,  occasionally,  by  an  arch,  humorous  fancy,  flinging 
its  rays  of  fun  and  drollery  over  the  dark  surface,  like  moon- 
beams on  midnight  waters.  I  do  believe  he  considered  it  sinful 
to  smile !  There  was  a  puckering  up  of  the  corner  of  the 
mouth,  and  a  forced  corrugation  of  the  eyebrows,  the  expression 
of  which  was  set  at  nought  by  the  comicality — the  solemn  drol- 
lery— of  the  eyes.  You  saw  Momus  leering  out  of  every  glance 
of  them !  He  said  many  very  witty  things  in  conversation,  and 
had  a  knack  of  uttering  the  quaintest  conceits  with  something 
like  a  whine  of  compunction  in  his  tone,  which  ensured  him 
roars  of  laughter.  As  for  his  own  laugh — when  he  did  laugh — 
there  is  no  describing  it — short,  sudden,  unexpected  was  it,  like 
a  flash  of  powder  in  the  dark.  Not  a  trace  of  real  merriment 
lingered  on  his  features  an  instant  after  tfje  noise  had  ceased. 
You  began  to  doubt  whether  he  had  laughed  at  all,  and  to  look 
about  to  see  where  the  explosion  came  from.  Except  on  such 
rare  occasions  of  forgetfulness  on  his  part,  his  demeanour  was 
very  calm  and  quiet.  He  loved  to  get  a  man  who  would  come 
and  sit  with  him  all  the  evening,  smoking  and  sipping  wine  in 
cloudy  silence.  He  could  not  endure  bustle  or  obstreperous- 
ness;  and  when  he  did  unfortunately  fall  foul  of  a  son  of  noise, 
as  soon  as  he  had  had  "  a  sample  of  his  quality,"  he  would 
abruptly  rise  and  take  his  leave,  saying,  in  a  querulous  tone, 
like  that  of  a  sick  child,  "  I'll  go ! "  (probably  these  two  words 
will  at  once  recall  him  to  the  memory  of  more  than  one  of  my 
readers) — and  he  was  as  good  as  his  word ;  for  all  his  acquaint- 
ance— and  I  among  the  number — knew  his  eccentricities,  and 
excused  them. 

Such  was  the  man — at  least  as  to  the  more  prominent  points 
of  his  character — whose  chattering  black  servant  presented  him- 
self hastily  to  my  notice  one  morning,  as  I  was  standing  on  my 
door  steps,  pondering  the  probabilities  of  wet  or  fine  for  the  day. 
He  spoke  in  such  a  spluttering  tone  of  trepidation,  that  it  was 
some  time  before  I  could  conjecture  what  was  the  matter.  At 
length,  I  distinguished  something  like  the  words,  "  Oh,  Docta, 

1.  •         M 


194  DIARY  OF   A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

docta,  com-a,  and  see-a  a  Massa !  Com-a !  Him  so  gashly — 
— him  so  ill — ver  dam  bad — him  say  so — Oh,  lorra-lorra-lorra ! 
Come  see-a  a  Massa — ^him  ver  orrid ! " 

"  Why,  what  on  earth  is  the  matter  with  you,  you  sable,  eh  ? 
Why  can't  you  speak  slower,  and  tell  me  plainly  what's  the 
matter?"  said  I  impatiently,  for  he  seemed  inclined  to  gabble 
on  in  that  strain  for  some  minutes  longer.  "  What's  the  matter 
with  your  master,  sirrah,  eh?"  I  enquired,  jerking  his  striped 
morning  jacket. 

"  Oh,  docta !  docta !  com-a — Massa  ver  bad !  Him  say  so ! — 
Him  head  turned !  Him  head  turned ! " 

"  Him  what,  sirrah  ?  "  said  I,  in  amazement. 

"  Him  head  turned,  docta — him  head  turned, "  replied  the 
man,  slapping  his  fingers  against  his  forehead. 

"  Oh,  I  see  how  it  is,  I  see ;  ah,  yes, "  I  replied,  pointing  to  my 
forehead  in  turn,  wishing  him  to  see  that  I  understood  him  to 
say  his  master  had  been  seized  with  a  fit  of  insanity. 

"  Iss,  iss,  docta — him  massa  head  turned — him  head  turned ! 
Dam  bad ! " 

"  Where  is  Mr  N ,  Nambo,  eh  ?  " 

"  Him  lying  all  'long  in  him  bed,  Massa — him  dam  bad.  But 
him  'tickler  quiet — him  head  turned." 

"  Why,  Nambo,  what  makes  i/ou  say  your  master's  head's 
turned,  eh  ?  What  d'ye  mean,  sir  ?  " 

"  Him,  massa,  self  say  so — him  did — him  head  turned. 
D — m  ! "  I  felt  as  much  at  a  loss  as  ever ;  it  was  so  odd  for  a 
gentleman  to  acknowledge  to  his  negro  servant  that  his  head  was 
turned. 

"  Ah !  he's  gone  mad,  you  mean,  eh  ? — is  that  it  ?  Hem !  Mad 
— is  it  so  ?  "  said  I,  pointing,  with  a  wink,  to  my  forehead. 

"  No,  no,  docta — him  head  turned ! — him  head, "  replied  Nambo ; 
and  raising  both  his  hands  to  his  head,  he  seemed  trying  to 
twist  it  round !  I  could  make  nothing  of  his  gesticulations,  so 
I  dismissed  him,  telling  him  to  take  word  that  I  should  make 
his  master's  my  first  call.  -I  may  as  well  say,  that  I  was  on 

terms  of  friendly  familiarity  with  Mr  N ,  and  puzzled  myself 

all  the  way  I  went  with  attempting  to  conjecture  what  new  crot- 
chet he  had  taken  into  his  odd,  and  latterly,  I  began  to  suspect, 


THE  TUKNED  H£AX>. CHAPTER  XIV.  195 

half-addled  head.  He  had  never  disclosed  symptoms  of  what  is 
generally  understood  by  the  word  hypochondriasis ;  but  I  often 
thought  there  was  not  a  likelier  subject  in  the  world  for  it.  At 
length  I  found  myself  knocking  at  my  friend's  door,  fully  pre- 
pared for  some  specimen  of  amusing  eccentricity — for  the  thought 
never  crossed  my  mind,  that  he  might  be  really  ill.  Nambo 
instantly  answered  my  summons,  and,  in  a  twinkling,  conducted 
me  to  his  master's  bedroom.  It  was  partially  darkened,  but 
there  was  light  enough  for  me  to  discern,  that  there  was  nothing 
unusual  in  his  appearance.  The  bed  was  much  tossed,  to  be 
sure,  as  if  with  the  restlessness  of  the  recumbent,  who  lay  on  his 
back,  with  his  head  turned  on  one  side,  buried  deep  on  the  pil- 
low, and  his  arms  folded  together  outside  the  counterpane.  His 
features  certainly  wore  an  air  of  exhaustion  and  dejection,  and 
his  eye  settled  on  me  with  an  alarmed  expression  from  the  mo- 
ment that  he  perceived  my  entrance. 

"  Oh,  dear  doctor ! — Isn't  this  frightful  ? — Isn't  it  a  dreadful 
piece  of  business  ?  " 

"  Frightful ! — dreadful  business  ! "  I  repeated  with  much  sur- 
prise. "  What  is  frightful  ?  Are  you  ill — have  you  had  an  acci- 
dent, eh  ?  " 

"  Ah,  ah  ! — you  may  well  ask  that ! "  he  replied ;  adding,  after 
a  pause,  "it  took  place  this  morning — about  two  hours  ago!" 

"  You  speak  in  parables,  Mr  N !  Why,  what  in  the  world 

is  the  matter  with  you  ?  " 

"  About  two  hours  ago — yes,"  he  muttered,  as  if  he  had  not 
heard  me.  "  Doctor,  do  tell  me  truly  now,  for  the  curiosity  of 
the  thing — what  did  you  think  of  me  on  first  entering  the  room, 
eh  ? — Feel  inclined  to  laugh,  or  be  shocked — which  ?  " 

"  Mr  N ,  I  really  have  no  time  for  trifling,  as  I  am  parti- 
cularly busy  to-day.  Do,  I  beg,  be  a  little  more  explicit !  Why 
have  you  sent  for  me ?    What  is  the  matter  with  you?" 

"Why,  God  bless  me,  doctor!"  he  replied,  with  an  air  of 
angry  surprise  in  his  manner,  which  I  never  saw  before,  "  I 
tliink,  indeed,  it's  you  who  are  trifling!  Have  you  lost  your 
eyesight  this  morning?  Do  you  pretend  to  say  that  you  do  not 
see  I  have  undergone  one  of  the  most  extraordinary  alterations 


196  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

in  appearance  that  the  body  of  man  is  capable  of— such  as  never 
was  heard  or  read  of  before?  " 

"  Once  more,  Mr  N ,"  I  repeated,  in  a  tone  of  calm  asto- 
nishment, "  be  so  good  as  to  be  explicit.  What  are  you  raving 
about  ? " 

"  Raving  ! — Egad,  I  think  it's  you  vrho  are  raving,  doctor ! " 
he  answered  ;  "  or  you  must  wish  to  insult  me!  Do  you  pre- 
tend to  tell  me  you  do  not  see  that  my  head  is  turned?  "  and  he 
looked  me  in  the  face  steadily  and  sternly. 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!  Upon  my  honour,  N ,  I've  been  suspect- 
ing as  much  for  this  last  five  or  ten  minutes!  I  don't  think  a 
patient  ever  described  his  disease  more  accurately  before!" 

"  Don't   mock  me,    Doctor  ,"   replied   N sternly. 

"  'Pon  my  soul,  1  can't  bear  it !  It's  enough  for  me  to  endure 
the  horrid  sensations  I  do  ! " 

"  Mr  N ,  what  do  you" 

"  Why,  confound   it.   Doctor !    you'll  drive  me  mad ! 

Can't  you  see  that  the  back  of  my  head  is  in  front,  and  my  face 
looking  backwards  ?  Horrible ! "  I  burst  into  loud  laughter. 

"  Doctor ,  it's  time  for  you  and  me  to  part — high  time," 

said  he,  turning  his  face  away  from  me.  "  I'll  let  you  know  that 
I'll  stand  your  nonsense  no  longer !  I  called  you  in  to  give  me 
your  advice,  not  to  sit  grinning  like  a  baboon  by  ray  bedside! 

Once  more — finally  :  Doctor ,  are  you  disposed  to  be  serious 

and  rational  ?  If  you  are  not,  my  man  shall  show  you  to  the 
door  the  moment  you  please."  He  said  this  in  such  a  sober, 
earnest  tone  of  indignation,  that  I  saw  he  was  fully  prepared  to 
carry  his  threat  into  execution.  I  determined,  therefore,  to 
humour  him  a  little,  shrewdly  suspecting  some  temporary  sus- 
pension of  his  sanity — not  exactly  madness — -but  at  least  some 
extraordinary  hallucination.  To  adopt  an  expression  which  I 
have  several  times  heard  him  use — "  I  saw  what  o'clock  it  was, 
and  set  my  watch  to  the  time." 

"  Oh — well ! — I  see  now  how  matters  stand ! — The  fact  is,  I 
did  observe  the  extraordinary  posture  of  afiairs  you  complain  of 
immediately  I  entered  the  room,  but  supposed  you  were  joking 
with  me,  and  twisting  your  head  round  in  that  odd  way  for 
the  purpose  of  hoaxing  me  ;  so  I  resolved  to  wait  and  see  which 


THE  TCKNED  HEAD. CHAPTEE  XIV.  197 

of  US  could  play  our  parts  in  the  farce  longest !  Why,  good  God  ! 

how's  all  this,  Mr  N ? — Is  it  then  really  the  case  ? — Are 

you — in — in  earnest — in  having  your  head  turned  ?  " 

"  In  earnest,  doctor ! "   replied    Mr  N in   amazement 

"  Why,  do  you  suppose  this  happened  by  my  own  will  and  agen- 
cy ? — Absurd ! " 

"  Oh !  no,  no — most  assuredly  not — it  is  a  phenomenon 
— hem!  hem! — a  phenomenon — not  unfrequently  attending 
on  the  nightmare, "  I  answered,  with  as  good  a  grace  as 
possible. 

"  Poh,  poh,  doctor ! — Nonsense  I — You  must  really  think  me 
a  child,  to  try  to  mislead  me  with  such  stuff  as  that !  I  tell  you 
again,  I  am  in  as  sober  possession  of  my  senses  as  ever  I  was  in 
my  life  ;  and,  once  more,  I  assure  you,  that,  in  truth  and  reality, 
my  head  is  turned — literally  so." 

"  Well,  well ! — So  I  see  ! — It  is,  indeed,  a  very  extraordinary 
case — a  very  unusual  one ;  but  I  don't,  by  any  means,  despair  of 
bringing  all  things  round  again  ! — Pray,  tell  me  how  this  singu- 
lar and  afflicting  accident  happened  to  you?" 

"  Certainly,"  said  he,  despondingly.  "  Last  night,  or  rather 
this  morning,  I  dreamed  that  I  had  got  to  the  West  Indies — to 
Barbadoes — an  island  where  I  have,  as  you  know,  a  Uttle  estate, 
left  me  by  my  uncle  C— — ■ ;  and  that,  a  few  moments  after  I 
had  entered  the  plantation,  for  the  purpose  of  seeing  the  slaves 
at  work,  there  came  a  sudden  hurricane,  a  more  tremendous  one 
than  ever  was  known  in  those  parts — trees — canes^huts — all 
were  swept  before  it !  Even  the  very  ground  on  which  we  stood 
seemed  whirled  away  beneath  us !  I  turned  my  head  a  moment 
to  look  at  the  direction  in  which  things  were  going,  when,  in 
the  very  act  of  turning,  the  blast  suddenly  caught  my  head,  and 
— oh,  my  God! — blew  it  completely  round  on  my  shoulders,  till 
my  face  looked  quite — directly  behind  me — over  my  back !  In 
vain  did  I  almost  wrench  my  head  off  my  shoulders,  in  attempt- 
ing to  twist  it  round  again ;  and  what  with  horror,  and — and — 
altogether — in  short,  I  awoke — and  found  the  frightful  reality  of 

my  situation  !^0h,  gracious  Heaven!"  continued  Mr  N , 

clasping  his  hands,  and  looking  upwards,  "  what  have  I  done  to 
deserve  such  a  horrible  visitation  as  this ! " 


198  DIART  or  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

Humph !  it  is  quite  clear  what  is  the  matter  here,  thought  I; 
so,  assuming  an  air  of  becoming  professional  gravity,  I  felt  his 
pulse,  begged  him  to  let  me  see  his  tongue,  made  many  enquiries 
about  his  general  health,  and  then  proceeded  to  subject  all  parts 
of  his  neck  to  a  most  rigorous  examination ;  before,  behind, 
on  each  side,  over  every  natural  elevation  and  depression  (if 
such  the  usual  varieties  of  surface  may  be  termed)  did  my  fin- 
gers pass ;  he  all  the  while  sighing,  and  cursing  his  evil  stars, 
and  wondering  how  it  was  that  he  had  not  been  killed  by  the 
"dislocation!"  This  little  farce  over,  I  continued  silent  for 
some  moments,  scarcely  able,  the  while,  to  control  my  inclina- 
tion to  burst  into  fits  of  laughter,  as  if  pondering  the  possibility 
of  being  able  to  devise  some  means  of  cure. 

"  Ah,  thank  God  ! "  — said  I  abruptly — "  I  have  it,  I  have 

"  What ! — what — eh  ? — what  is  it  ?"  he  enquired  with  anxiety. 

"  I've  thought  of  a  remedy,  which,  if — if — if  any  thing  in  the 
world  can  bring  it  about,  will  set  matters  right  again — will  bring 
back  your  head  to  its  former  position." 

"  Oh,  God  be  praised  ! — dear — dear  doctor ! — if  you  do  but 
succeed,  I  shall  consider  a  thousand  pounds  but  the  earnest  of 
what  I  will  do  to  evince  my  gratitude ! "  he  exclaimed,  squeezing 
my  hand  fervently.  "  But  I  am  not  absolutely  certain  that  we 
shall  succeed,"  said  I  cautiously.  "  We  will,  however,  give  the 
medicine  a  twenty-four  hours'  trial ;  during  all  which  time  you 
must  be  in  perfect  repose,  and  consent  to  lie  in  utter  darkness. 
Will  you  abide  by  my  directions  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes — yes — yes! — dear  doctor! — What  is  the  inestimable 
remedy  ?  TeU  me — tell  me  the  name  of  my  ransomer.  I'll  never 
divulge  it — never ! " 

"  That  is  not  consistent  with  my  plans  at  present,  Mr  N ," 

I  replied  seriously  ;  "  but,  if  successful — of  which  I  own  I  have 
very  sanguine  expectations — I  pledge  my  honour  to  reveal  the 
secret  to  you." 

"  Well — but — at  least  you'll  explain  the  nature  of  its  opera- 
tion— eh  ?  is  it  internal — external — what  ?  "  The  remedy,  I  told 
him,  would  be  of  both  forms ;  the  latter,  however,  the  more 
immediate  agent  of  his  recovery ;  the  former,  preparatory — pre- 


THE  TURNED  HEAD. CHAPTER  XIV.  199 

disposing.  I  may  tell  the  reader  simply  what  my  physic  was 
to  be :  three  bread-jnlls  (the  ordinary  placebo  in  such  cases) 
every  hour ;  a  strong  laudanum  draught  in  the  evening  ;  and  a 
huge  bread-and-water  poultice  for  his  neck,  with  which  it  was 
to  be  environed  till  the  parts  were  sufficiently  mollified  to  admit 
of  the  neck's  being  twisted  back  again  into  its  former  position  ! 
— and,  when  that  was  the  case — why — to  ensure  its  permanency, 
he  was  to  wear  a  broad  band  of  strengthening  plaster  for  a 
week !  !  This  was  the  bright  device,  struck  out  by  me — all  at 
a  heat ;  and  which,  explained  to  the  poor  victim,  with  the 
utmost  solemnity  and  deliberation  of  manner — all  the  wise 
winks  and  knowing  nods,  and  hesitating  "hems"  and  "ha's"  of 
professional  usage — sufficed  to  inspire  him  with  some  confidence 
as  to  the  result.  I  confess  I  shared  the  most  confident  expectations 
of  success.  A  sound  night's  rest — hourl}'  piU-taking — and  the 
clammy  saturating  sensation  about  his  neck,  I  fully  believed 
would  bring  him,  or  rather  his  head  round ;  and,  in  the  full 
anticipation  of  seeing  him  disabused  of  the  ridiculous  notion 
he  had  taken  into  his  head,  I  promised  to  see  him  the  first 
thing  in  the  morning,  and  took  my  departure.  After  quitting 
the  house,  I  could  not  help  laughing  immoderately  at  the  recol- 
lection of  the  scene  I  had  just  witnessed ;  and  a  Mrs  M , 

by  the  way — who  happened  to  be  passing  on  the  other  side  of  the 
street,  and  observed  my  involuntary  risibility — took  occasion  to 
spread  an  ill-natured  rumour,  that  I  was  in  the  habit  of  "  making 
myself  merry  at  the  expense  of  my  patients  !  " 

I  foresaw,  that  should  this  "  crick  in  the  neck  "  prove  perma- 
nent, I  stood  a  chance  of  listening  to  innumerable  conceits  of 
the   most  whimsical  and   paradoxical  kind  imaginable — for  I 

knew  N 's  natural  turn  to  humour.     It  was  inconceivable 

to  me  how  such  an  extraordinary  delusion  could  bear  the  blush 
of  daylight,  resist  the  evidence  of  his  senses,  and  the  unanimous 
simultaneous  assurances  of  all  who  beheld  him.  Though  it  is 
little  credit  to  me,  and  tells  but  small  things  for  my  self-control 
— I  cannot  help  acknowledging,  that  at  the  bedside  of  my  next 
patient,  who  was  within  two  or  three  hours  of  her  end,  the  sur- 
passing absurdity  of  the  "  turned  head "  notion  glared  in  such 
ludicrous  extremes  before  me,  that  I  was  near  bursting  a  blood- 


200  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

vessel  with  endeavours  to  suppress  a  perfect  peal  of  laugh- 
ter! 

About  eleven  o'clock  the  next  morning,  I  paid  N a  second 

visit.  The  door  was  opened,  as  usual,  by  his  black  servant, 
Nambo ;  by  whose  demeanour  I  saw  that  something  or  other 
extraordinary  awaited  me.  His  sable  swollen  features,  and 
dancing  white  eyeballs,  showed  that  he  was  nearly  bursting 
with  laughter.  "  He — he — he!"  he  chuckled,  in  a  sort  of  sotto 
voce,  "him  Massa  head  turned! — Him  back  in  front!  Him 
waddle ! — he — he — he !  "• — and  he  twitched  his  clothes — jerking 
his  jacket  and  pointing  to  his  breeches,  in  a  way  that  I  did  not 

understand.     On  entering  the  room,  where  N ,  with  one 

of  his  favourite  silent  smoking  friends  (M ,  the  late  well- 
known  counsel,)  were  sitting  at  breakfast,  I  encountered  a 
spectacle  which  nearly  made  me  expire  with  laughter.  It  is 
almost  useless  to  attempt  describing  it  on  paper — yet  I  will 
try.     Two  gentlemen  sat  opposite  each  other  at  the  breakfast 

table,  by  the  fire ;  the  one  with  his  face  to  me  was  Mr  M ; 

and  N sat  with  his   back  towards  the  door  by  which  I 

entered.  A  glance  at  the  former  sufficed  to  show  me,  that  he 
was  sitting  in  tortures  of  suppressed  risibility.  He  was  quite 
red  in  the  face— his  features  were  swollen  and  puffy — and  his 
eyes  fixed  strainingly  on  the  fire,  as  though  through  fear  of 
encountering  the  ludicrous  figure  of  his  friend.  They  were 
averted  from  the  fire,  for  a  moment,  to  welcome  my  entrance 
— and  then  re-directed  thither  with  such  a  painful  effort- 
such  a  comical  air  of  compulsory  seriousness^- as,  added  to  the 

preposterous  fashion  after  which   poor  N had  chosen  to 

dress  himself,  completely  overcame  me.  The  thing  was  irre- 
sistible ;  and  my  utterance  of  that  peculiar  choking  sound,  which 
indicates  the  most  strenuous  efforts  to  suppress  one's  risible 
emotions,  was  the  unwitting  signal  for  each  of  us  bursting  into 
a  long  and  loud  shout  of  laughter.  It  was  in  vain  that  I  bit  my 
under  lip,  almost  till  it  brought  blood,  and  that  my  eyes  strained 
till  the  sparks  flashed  from  them,  in  the  futile  attempt  to  cease 
laughing;  for  full  before  me  sat  the  exciting  cause  of  it,  in  the 

shape  of  N ,  his  head  supported  by  the  palm  of  his  left  hand, 

with  his  elbow  propped  against  the  side  of  the  arm-chair.    The 


THE  TURNED  HEAD. CHAPTER  XlV.  201 

knot  of  his  neckerchief  was  tied,  with  its  customary  formal  pre- 
cision— but  behind — at  the  nape  of  his  neck;  his  coat  and  waist- 
coat were  buttoned  down  his  back ;  and  his  trowsers,  moreover, 
to  match  the  novel  fashion,  buttoned  behind,  and,  of  course,  the 
hinder  parts  of  them  bulged  out  ridiculously  in  front !  Only 
to  look  at  the  coat-collar  fitting  under  the  chin,  like  a  stiff  mili- 
tary stock — the  four  tail  buttons  of  brass  glistening  conspicu- 
ously before,  and  the  front  parts  of  the  coat  buttoned  carefully 
over  his  back — the  compulsory  handiwork  of  poor  Nambo ! 

N ,  perfectly  astounded  at  our  successive  shouts  of  laugh- 
ter— for  we  found  it  impossible  to  stop — suddenly  rose  up  in  his 
chair,  and,  almost  inarticulate  with  fury,  demanded  what  we 
meant  by  such  extraordinary  behaviour.  This  fury,  however, 
was  all  lost  on  me;  I  could  only  point,  in  an  ecstasy  of  laughter 
almost  bordering  on  frenzy,  to  his  novel  mode  of  dress,  as  my 
apology.  He  stamped  his  foot,  uttered  volleys  of  imprecations 
against  us;  and  then,  ringing  his  bell,  ordered  the  servant  to 
show  us  both  to  the  door.  The  most  violent  emotions,  however, 
must,  in  time,  expend  their  violence,  though  in  the  presence  of 
the  same  exciting  cause ;  and  so  it  was  with  Mr  M and  my- 
self.    On  seeing  how  seriously  affronted  N was,  we  both 

sat  down,  and  I  entered  into  examination,  my  whole  frame 
aching  with  the  prolonged  convulsive  fits  of  irrepressible  laugh- 
ter. 

It  would  be  in  vain  to  attempt  a  recital  of  one  of  the  drollest 

conversations  in  which  I  ever  bore  part.     N 's  temper  was 

thoroughly  soured  for  some  time.  He  declared  that  my  physic 
was  all  a  humbug,  and  a  piece  of  quackery ;  and  the  "  filthy 
pudding  round  his  neck,"  the  absurdest  farce  he  ever  heard  of: 
he  had  a  great  mind  to  make  Nambo  eat  it,  for  the  pains  he  had 
taken  in  making  it  and  fastening  it  on — poor  fellow ! 

Presently  he  lapsed  into  a  melancholy  reflective  mood.  He 
protested  that  the  laws  of  locomotion  were  utterly  inexplicable 
to  him — a  practical  paradox  ;  that  his  volitions  as  to  progressive 
and  retrogressive  motion  neutralized  each  other;  and  the  neces- 
sary result  was  the  cursed  circumgyratory  motion — for  all  the 
world  like  that  of  a  hen  that  had  lost  one  of  its  wings !  That 
henceforward  he  should  be  compelled  to  crawl,  crab-like,  through 


202  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHTSICIAN. 

life,  all  ways  at  once,  and  none  in  particular.  He  could  not 
conceive,  he  said,  which  was  the  nearest  way  from  one  given 
point  to  another ;  in  short,  that  all  his  sensations  and  percep- 
tions were  disordered  and  confounded.  His  situation,  he  said, 
was  an  admirable  commentary  on  the  words  of  St  Paul — "  But 
I  see  another  law  in  my  members  warring  against  the  law  of  my 
mind."  He  could  not  conceive  how  the  arteries  and  veins  of 
the  neck  could  carry  and  return  the  blood,  after  being  so  shock- 
ingly twisted;  or  "  how  the  windpipe  went  on"  affording  a  free 
course  to  the  air  through  its  distorted  passage.  In  short,  he 
said,  he  was  a  walking  lie ! 

Curious  to  ascertain  the  consistency  of  this  anomalous  state  of 
feeling,  I  endeavoured  once  more  to  bring  his  delusion  to  the 
test  of  simple  sensation,  by  placing  one  hand  on  his  nose,  and 
the  other  on  his  breast,  and  asking  him  which  was  which,  and 
whether  both  did  not  lie  in  the  same  direction.  He  wished  to 
know  why  I  persisted  in  making  myself  merry  at  his  expense! 
I  repeated  the  question,  still  keeping  my  hands  in  the  same  posi- 
tion ;  but  he  suddenly  pushed  them  off,  and  asked  me,  with  indig- 
nation, if  I  was  not  ashamed  to  keep  his  head  looking  over  his 
shoulder  in  that  way ;  accompanying  the  words  with  a  shake 
of  the  head,  and  a  sigh  of  exhaustion,  as  if  it  had  really  been 
twisted  round  into  the  wrong  direction.  "  Ah ! "  he  exclaimed, 
after  a  pause,  "if  this  unnatural  state  of  affairs  should  prove 
permanent — hem ! — I'll  put  an  end  to  the  chapter !  He,  he,  he ! 
— He,  he,  he  ! "  he  continued,  bursting  suddenly  into  one  of  those 
short  abrupt  laughs,  which  I  have  before  attempted  to  describe. 
"  He,  he,  he ! — how  very  odd ! "  We  both  asked  him,  in  surprise, 
what  he  meant,  for  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  fire,  in  apparently 
a  melancholy  mood. 

"  He,  he,  he !  —  exquisitely  odd ! "  he  continued,  without 
answering  us.  "  He,  he,  he !  "  After  repeated  enquiries,  he  dis- 
closed the  occasion  of  his  unusual  cachinnations. 

"  I've  just  been  thinking,"  said  he,  "  suppose — he,  he,  he ! — 
suppose  it  were  to  come  to  pass  that  I  should  be  hanged — he,  he, 
he! — he,  he,  he! — God  forbid,  by  the  way — but,  suppose  I 
should,  how  old  Ketch  would  be  puzzled ! — My  face  looking  one 
way,  and  my  tied  hands  and  arms  poking  another !  How  the 


THE  TURNED  HEAD. — CHAPTER  XIV.  203 

crowd  would  stare !  He,  he,  he !  And  suppose,"  pursuing  the 
train  of  thought,  "  I  were  to  be  publicly  whipped — how  I  could 
superintend  operations  !  And  again — how  the  devil  am  I  to  ride 

on  horseback,  eh  ?  with  my  face  to  the  tail,  or to  the  mane  ? 

In  short,  what  is  to  become  of  me  ?  I  am,  in  effect,  shut  out  from 
society !  I  am  something  else  than  a  mere  turncoat ! " 

"  You  have  only  to  walk  circumspectly"  said  M ,  with 

an  air  of  solemn  waggery — "  and  as  for  iacA-biters — hem  ! " 

"  That's  odd — very — but  impertinent,"  replied  the  hypochon- 
driac, with  a  mingled  expression  of  chagrin  and  humour. 

"  Come,  come,  N ,  don't  look  so  steadily  on  the  dark  side 

of  things,"  said  I. 

"  The  dark  side  of  things  ?  "  he  enquired ;  "  I  think  it  is  the 
6acA-side  of  things  I  am  compelled  to  look  at ! " 
"  Look  forward  to  better  days,"  said  I. 
^''  Look  forward,  again!  What  nonsense!"  he  replied,  inter- 
rupting me  ;  "  impossible !  How  can  I  look  forward  ?  My  life 
will  henceforth  be  spent  in  wretched  retrospections !"  and  he 
could  not  help  smiling  at  the  conceit.  Having  occasion,  during 
the  conversation,  to  use  his  pocket-handkerchief,  he  suddenly 
reached  his  hand  behind  as  usual,  and  was  a  little  confused  to 
find  that  the  unusual  position  of  his  coat-pocket  required  that  he 
should  take  it  from  before!  This  I  should  have  conceived 
enough  to  put  an  end  to  his  delusion ;  but  I  was  mistaken. 

"  Ah  !  it  -will  take  some  time  to  reconcile  me  to  this  new  order 
of  things;  but  practice — practice — makes  perfect,  you  know!" 
It  was  amazing  to  me,  that  his  sensations,  so  contradictory  to  the 
absurd  crotchet  he  had  taken  into  his  head,  did  not  convince  him 
of  his  error,  especially  when  so  frequently  compelled  to  act  in  obe- 
dience to  long-accustomed  impulses.  As,  for  instance,  on  my  rising 
to  go,  he  suddenly  started  from  his  chair,  shook  my  hands,  and 
accompanied  me  to  the  door,  as  if  nothing  had  been  the  matter. 
"Well,  now  !  What  do  you  think  of  that  ?"  said  I  triumph- 
antly. 

"Ah,  ah!"  said  he,  after  a  puzzled  pause,  "but  you  little 

know  the  effort  it  cost  me  ! " 

**»♦♦** 

He  did  not  persevere  long  in  the  absurd  way  of  putting  on 


204  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

his  clothes  which  I  have  just  descrihed  ;  hut  even  after  he  had 
discontinued  it,  he  alleged  his  opinion  to  be,  that  the  front  of 
his  clothes  ought  to  be  with  his  face !  I  might  relate  many 
similar  absurdities  springing  from  this  notion  of  his  turned 
head,  but  sufficient  has  been  said  already  to  give  the  reader 
a  clear  idea  of  the  general  character  of  such  delusions.  My 
subsequent  interviews  with  him,  while  under  this  unprecedented 
hallucination,  were  similar  to  the  two  which  I  have  attempted 
to  describe.  The  fit  lasted  near  a  month.  At  length,  however, 
I  happened  luckily  to  recollect  a  device  successfully  resorted  to 
by  a  sagacious  old  English  physician,  in  the  case  of  a  royal 
hypochondriac  abroad,  who  fancied  that  his  nose  had  swelled 
into  greater  dimensions  than  those  of  his  whole  body  beside ; 
and  forthwith  resolved  to  adopt  a  similar  method  of  cure  with 

N .    Mlectricity  was  to  be  the  wonder-working  talisman !  I 

lectured  him  out  of  all  opposition,  silenced  his  scruples,  and  got 
him  to  fix  an  evening  for  the  exorcisation  of  the  evil  spirit — as 
it  might  well  be  called — which  had  taken  possession  of  him. 

Let   the  reader  fancy,   then,    N 's   sitting-room,  about 

seven  o'clock  in  the  evening,  illuminated  with  a  cheerful  fire,  and 
four  mould  candles ;  the  awful  electrifying  machine  duly  dis- 
posed for  action ;  Mr  S of Hospital,  Dr ,  and  my- 
self, all  standing  round  it,  adjusting  the  jars,  chains,  &c. ;  and 

Nambo  busily  engaged  in  laying  bare  his  master's  neck,  N 

all  the  while  eyeing  our  motions  with  excessive  trepidation. 
I  had  infinite  difficulty  in  getting  his  consent  to  one  preUminary 
— the  bandaging  of  his  eyes.  I  succeeded,  however,  at  last,  in 
persuading  him  to  undergo  the  operation  blindfolded,  by  assu- 
ring him  that  it  was  essential  to  success ;  for  that,  if  he  was  al- 
lowed to  see  the  application  of  the  conductor  to  the  precise  spot 
requisite,  he  might  start,  and  occasion  its  apposition  to  a  wrong 
place!  The  real  reason  will  be  seen  presently;  the  great  man- 
oeuvre could  not  have  been  practised  but  on  such  terms;  for 

how  could  I  give  his  head  a  sudden  twist  round,  and  S give 

him  a  smart  stroke  on  the  crown  of  the  head  at  the  instant  of 
his  receiving  the  shock,  if  he  saw  what  we  were  about?  I 
ought  to  have  mentioned  that  we  also  prevailed  upon  him  to  sit 
with  his  arms  pinioned,  so  that  he  was  completely  at  our  mercy. 


THE  TCKNED  HEAD.  —CHAPTER  XIV.  205 

None  of  us  could  refrain  from  an  occasional  titter  at  the  ab- 
surdity of  the  solemn  farce  we  were  playing — fortunately,  how- 
ever, unheard  by  N .     At  length,  Nambo  being  turned  out, 

and  the  doors  locked — lest,  seeing  the  trick,  he  might  disclose 
it   subsequently   to   his    master — we    commenced    operations. 

S worked   the   machine — round,  and  round,  and  round, 

whizzing — sparkling — crackling — till  the  jar  was   moderately 

charged :  it  was  then  conveyed  to  N 's  neck,  Dr using 

the  conductor.     N ,  on  receiving  a  tolerably  smart  shock, 

started  out  of  his  chair,  and  I  had  not  time  to  give  him  the 
twist  I  had  intended.  After  a  few  moments,  however,  he  pro- 
tested that  he  felt  "something  loosened"  about  his  neck,  and 
was  easily  induced  to  submit  to  another  shock,  considerably 
stronger  than  the  former.  The  instant  the  rod  was  applied  to 
his  neck,  I  gave  the  head  a  sudden  excruciating  wrench  towards 

the  left  shoulder.     S striking  him,  at  the  same  moment,  a 

smart  blow  on  the  crown.     Poor  N ! 

"  Thank  God ! "  we  all  exclaimed,  as  if  panting  for  breath. 

"  I — i — s  it  all  over  ?  "  stammered  N faintly — quite  con- 
founded with  the  effects  of  the  threefold  remedy  we  had  adopted. 

"  Yes — thank  God,  we  have  at  last  brought  your  head  round 
again,  and  your  face  looks  forward  now  as  heretofore!"  said  I. 

"  Oh,  remove  the  bandage — remove  it !  Let  my  own  eyesight 
behold  it ! — Bring  me  a  glass ! " 

"  As  soon  as  the  proper  bandages  have  been  applied  to  your 
neck,  Mr  N ." 

"  What,  eh — a  second  pudding,  eh?" 

"  No,  merely  a  broad  band  of  diachylum  plaster,  to  prevent 
— hem — the  contraction  of  the  skin,"  said  I.  As  soon  as  that 
was  done,  we  removed  the  handkerchiefs  from  his  eyes  and 
arms. 

"  Oh,  my  God,  how  delightful ! "  he  exclaimed,  rising  and 
walking  up  to  the  mirror  over  the  mantelpiece. — "  Ecstasy!  Ail 
really  right  again  " 

"  My  dear  N ,  do  not,  I  beg,  do  not  work  your  neck  about 

in  that  way,  or  the  most  serious  disarrangement  of  the — the 
parts,"  said  1 


206  DIABT  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

"  Oh !  it's  so,  is  it?  Then  I'd  better  get  into  bed  at  once,  I 
think,  and  you'll  call  in  the  morning." 

I  did,  and  found  him  in  bed.  "  Well,  how  does  all  go  on  this 
morning?"  I  enquired. 

"  Pretty  well — middling,"  he  replied,  with  some  embarrass- 
ment of  manner.  "  Do  you  know,  doctor,  I've  been  thinking 
about  it  all  night  long — and  I  strongly  suspect" — (His  serious 
air  alarmed  me) — I  began  to  fear  that  he  had  discovered  the 
trick — "  I  strongly  suspect — hem — hem" —  he  continued. 

"  What?"  I  enquired,  rather  sheepishly. 

"  Why,  that  it  was  my  brains  only  that  were  turned — and 
that — that — most  ridiculous  piece  of  business" 

"  Why,  to  be  sure,  Mr  N "  *  *  *  *_ 

and  he  was  so  ashamed  about  it,  that  he  set  off  for  the  country 
immediately ;  and,  among  the  glens  and  mountains  of  Scotland, 
endeavoured  to  forget  ever  having  dreamed  that  his  head  was 

TURNED. 


One  of  the  papers  roundly  asserts,  that  the  foregoing  is  "pure 
fiction."  I  like  the  modesty  and  caution  of  this ;  the  more  espe- 
cially when  I  know  it  is  next  to  impossible  for  the  assertor  to 
know  any  thing  about  the  matter.     But  mark  his  reasoning: — 

"  The  conceit  is  droll  and  witty  enough,"  he  says,  "  but,  un- 
fortunately, is  too  much  so  for  truth!  Who  ever  heard  of  such  a 
consistent  delusion — in  such  a  humorous  subject?" 

I  leave  this  little  argumentative  chokepear  for  a  child  to  nib- 
ble at:  medical  men  know  better.  Samuel  or  Charles  Wesley 
(surviving  relatives  of  the  celebrated  John  Wesley)  fancied  him- 
self a  TEA-POT ;  and  stuck  to  the  notion  strongly  for  some  time! 
I  know  one  whom  he  told  of  his  "  misfortune." 

A  medical  man  in  Lincolnshire,  a  few  years  ago,  persuaded 
himself  into  the  notion  that  he  had  been  transformed  into  a 
GREAT-COAT  !  Noone  now  laughs  at  the  thing  more  heartily  than 
himself;  at  the  same  time  protesting  that  his  delusion  was  com- 
plete at  the  time !  I  have  heard  also,  that  the  late  Mr  Nollekens 
fancied  he  had    sunk   into  a  pair  of  shoes;   and  would  ask 


THE  TURNED  HEAD. CHAPTER  XIV.  207 

people,  if  they  "put  him  on,"  to  keep  out  of  the  wet  as  much 
as  possible ! 

The  gentleman  with  whom  I  was  articled  had  the  care  of  the 
workhouse  ;  and  I  saw  there  a  woman  who  seriously  told  me  she 
was  dead,  and  had  been  so  for  many  weeks.  She  was  taking 
tea,  when  she  told  me  of  the  strange  fact.  "  Well,  I  think  yours 
is  a  pretty  comfortable  sort  of  death,"  said  I ;  but  she  replied, 
with  a  sigh,  "  It  was  Satan  that  had  entered  into  her  body  the 
moment  her  own  soul  had  left  it,  and  plagued  her  with  eating, 
drinking,  talking,  and  living,  without  any  of  the  pleasure  and 
relish  of  true  life  ! "  The  woman  was  a  Roman  Catholic  ;  and 
said  she  was  suiFering  the  pains  of  purgatory  for  a  wicked  life. 

A  metaphysical  gentleman — once  a  member  of  Parliament — 
not  many  years  ago  imagined  himself  a  spirit — an  impalpable, 
intangible  being.  He  said  he  had  the  power  of  pervading  mat- 
ter, and  knew  the  secret  cause  of  its  cohesion,  having,  in  a  man- 
ner, seen  and  known  it  while  operating.  He  said  he  had  a  perfect 
knowledge  of  the  "  quomodo,"  as  he  called  it,  of  the  presence 
and  operation  of  gravity.  He  was  asked  for  an  explanation  ot 
the  phenomena,  and  made  an  answer  in  a  long  tissue  of  meta- 
physic  rigmarole,  unintelligible  to  any  one  that  heard  him.  He 
said,  that  as  for  himself,  he  had  the  power  of  diffusing  himself 
over  the  centre  of  our  globe,  and  interfusing  his  influence 
throughout  the  whole  congeries  of  matter,  till  the  earth  swelled 
to  a  thousand  times  its  present  dimensions — that  all  spirits  had 
the  same  power ! 

"  Why,  mercy  on  us !  Mr , "  said  Sir ,  with  affected 

alarm,  "we're  not  safe,  then  !  Perhaps  the  world  is  swelling  under 
us  now  !  What  is  to  become  of  us  ?  " 

"  Spirit  is  benevolent  and  wise ;  so  you  are  safe  ! "  replied  the 
hypochondriac,  with  a  most  singular  air,  as  if  he  half  saw  the 

absurdity  of  his  notion,  and  was  half  angry  with  Sir  . 

"  You  might  cut  your  son's  throat — but  you  don't!"  During  the 
same  interview,  he  told  his  medical  man  that  "the  soul  of 
Kant"  wandered  "through  the  universe;"  and  once  diffused 
itself  so  extensively,  as  to  render  its  re-compression  very  difficult ! 
"  If  you  only  knew  how,  you  could  compress  me  into  a  compass 
infinitely  less  than  that  of  a  needle  point,"  said  he  solemnly ! 


208  DIARY  OP  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

If  the  veracity  of  this  instance  should  he  seriously  questioned, 
it  is  possible  that  the  ci-devant  hypochondriac  himself  might  step 
for  a  moment  from  his  elegant  and  profound  privacy,  where 
thought  and  imagination  dvrell  "  gloriously  supreme,"  and  good- 
humouredly  attest  the  truth  of  what  I  am  relating.  I  have  given 
the  few  amusing  instances  above,  out  of  a  store  of  many  similar 
ones  ;  and,  reader,  if  you  are  extra-professional,  and  still  adoubter, 
ask  the  most  experienced  medical  friend  you  have,  whether,  in 
the  above,  you  are  required  to  put  faith  in  improbabilities  and 
figments. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


Monday  Evening,  July  25.  18 Well!    the  poor  martyr 

has  at  last  been  released  from  her  sufferings,  and  her  wasted 
remains  lie  hid  in  the  kindly  gloom  of  the  grave.     Yes,  sweet, 

abused,  forgiving  Mrs  T !   I  this  morning  attended  your 

funeral,  and  let  fall  tears  of  unavailing  regret !  Shall  I  tell  your 
sad  story  all  in  one  word  or  two  ?  The  blow  that  broke  your 
heart  was  struck  by  your  husband  ! 

Heaven  grant  me  calmness  in  recording  your  wrongs !  Let 
not  the  feelings  of  outraged  humanity  prompt  me  to  "  set  down 
aught  in  malice."  May  I  be  dispassionately  enough  disposed  to 
say  but  the  half,  nay,  even  the  hundredth  part  only,  of  what  I 
know,  and  my  conscience  wiU  stand  acquitted !  Let  not  him 
who  shall  read  these  pages  anticipate  any  thing  of  romance,  of 
high-flown  rodomontade,  in  what  follows.  It  is  all  about  a 
poor,  ill-used,  heart-broken  wife  :  and  such  an  object  is,  alas! 
too  often  met  with  in  all  classes  of  societj',  to  attract,  in  an 
ordinary  case,  any  thing  of  public  notice.  The  ensuing  narra- 
tive will  not,  however,  be  found  an  ordinary  case.  It  is  fraught 
with  circumstances  of  such  peculiar  aggravation,  and  exhibits 
such  a  moving  picture  of  the  tenderness  and  unrepining  fortitude 


THE  WHB. CllAPlJiU  XV.  209 

of  woman,  that  I  am  tempted  to  give  it  at  some  length.  Its 
general  accuracy  may  be  relied  upon,  for  I  succeeded  in  wring- 
ing it  from  the  lips  of  the  poor  sufferer  herself.  I  must,  how- 
ever, be  allowed  to  give  it  in  my  own  way ;  though  at  the  risk 
of  its  being  thereby  divested  of  much  of  that  sorrowful  simplicity 
and  energy — that  touching  naiiue/e  which  characterized  its  utter- 
ance. I  shall  conclude  with  extracting  some  portions  of  ray 
notes  of  visits  made  in  a  professional  capacity. 

Miss  Jane  C had  as  numerous  a  retinue  of  suitors  as  a 

pretty  person,  well-known  sweetness  of  disposition,  considerable 
accomplishments,  and  £10,000  in  the  funds,  could  not  fail  of 
procuring  to  their  possesssor.  She  was  an  orphan,  and  was 
left  absolute  mistress  of  her  property  on  attaining  her  twenty- 
first  year.  All  the  members  of  her  own  family  most  strenuously 
backed  the  pretensions  of  the  curate  of  the  parish — a  young  man 
of  ascertained  respectability  of  character  and  family,  with  a  snug 
stipend,  and  fair  prospects  of  preferment.  His  person  and  man- 
ners were  agreeable  and  engaging :  and  he  could  not  Conceal  his 

inclination  to  fling  them  both  at  Miss  C 's  feet.     All  who 

knew  the  parties,  said  it  would  be  an  excellent  match  in  all 

respects,  and  a  happy  couple  they  would  make.     Miss  C 

herself  could  not  look  at  the  curate  with  indifference — at  least, 
if  any  inference  might  be  drawn  from  an  occasional  flushing  of 
her  features  at  church,  whenever  the  eyes  of  the  clergyman  hap- 
pened to  glance  at  her — which  was  much  oftener  than  his  duty 
required.  In  short,  the  motherly  gossips  of  the  place  all  looked 
upon  it  as  a  settled  thing,  and  had  pitched  upon  an  admirable 
house  for  the  future  couple.  They  owned  unanimously  that 
"  the  girl  mightharve  gone  farther  and  fared  worse,"  and  so  forth  ; 
which  is  a  great  deal  for  such  people  to  say  about  such  matters. 

There  happened,  however,  to  be  given  a  great  ball,  by  the 

lady  of  the  ex-mayor,  where  Miss  C was  one  of  the  stars  of 

the  evening;  and  at  this  party  there  chanced  to  be  a  young 
Londoner,  who  had  just  come  down  on  a  three-weeks'  holyday 
He  was  training  for  the  law  in  a  solicitor's  office,  and  was 
within  six  or  seven  months  of  the  expiration  of  his  articles.  He 
was  a  personable  sort  of  fellow  to  look  at — a  spice  of  a  dandy — 

1  .       o 


210  JDIAEY  OF  A  LiTB  PHYSICIAN. 

and  had  that  kind  of  air  about  him  which  tells  of  town — if  not 
of  the  blandness,  ease,  and  elegance  of  the  West,  still — of  town 
— which  contrasted  favourably  with  the  comparative  ungainli- 
ness  of  provincials.  He  was,  in  a  word,  a  sort  of  small  star;  a 
triton  among  the  minnows;  and  whatever  he  said  or  did  took  in- 
fallibly.    Apprized  by  some  judicious  relatives  of  the  united 

charms  of  Miss  C 's  purse  and  person,  he  took  care  to  pay 

her  the  most  conspicuous  attentions.  Alas !  the  quiet  claims  of 
the  curate  were  soon  silenced  by  his  bustling  rival.    This  young 

spark  chattered  Miss  C out  of  her  calm  senses.    Wherever 

she  went,  he  followed ;  whatever  she  said  or  did,  he  applauded. 
He  put  into  requisition  all  his  small  acquirements — he  sang  a 
little,  danced  more,  and  talked  an  infinity.  To  be  brief,  he  de- 
termined on  carrying  the  fort  with  a  coup  de  main;  and  he  suc- 
ceeded.    The  poor  curate  was  forgotten  for  ever!    Before  the 

enterprizing  young  lawyer  left  ,  he  was  an  accepted  suitor 

of  Miss  C 's.  The  coldness  of  all  her  friends  and  acquain- 
tances signified  nothing  to  her ;  her  lover  had,  by  some  means  or 
other,  obtained  so  powerful  a  hold  of  her  affections,  that  sneers, 
reproaches,  remonstrances,  threats,  on  the  part  of  all  who  had 
previously  betrothed  her  to  the  curate,  "  passed  by  her  as  the 
idle  wind,  which  she  regarded  not."  She  promised  to  become 
his  wife  as  soon  as  his  articles  should  have  expired,  and  to  live 
in  London. 

In  due  time,  as   matters  approached  a  crisis,  friends  were 

called  in  to  talk  over  preliminaries.     Mr  T proved  to  be 

comparatively  penniless;   but  what   was   that?     Miss  C 

acted  with  very  unusual  generosity.  She  insisted  on  settling 
only  half  her  fortune — and  left  the  other  half  entirely  at  his  dis- 
posal. On  receiving  this  inteUigenee  from  her  own  lips,  the 
young  man  uttered  the  most  frantic  expressions  of  gratitude ; 
promised  her  eternal  love  and  faithfulness;  protested  that  he 
idolized  her;  and — took  her  at  her  word.  It  was  in  vain  that 
cautious  relatives  stepped  in  to  tender  their  remonstrances  to 

Miss  C on  the  imprudent  extent  to  which  she  was  placing 

her  fortune  beyond  her  own  control.  Opposition  only  consoli- 
dates and  strengthens  the  resolutions  of  a  woman  whose  mind 
is  once  made  up.     The  generous  creature  believed  implicitly 


THE  WIFE. CHAPTER  XV.  211 

every  word  that  her  lover  poured  into  her  delighted  ear ;  and 
was  not  startled  into  any  thing  like  distrust,  even  when  she 
found  that  her  young  husband  had  expended,  at  one  fell  swoop, 
nearly  £3000  of  the  £5000  she  had  so  imprudently  placed  at 
his  disposal — in  "  establishing  themselves  in  London,"  as  he 
termed  it.  He  commenced  a  rate  of  living  which  it  would  have 
required  an  income  of  at  least  £1000  a-year  to  support;  and 
when  an  uncle  of  his  wife's  took  upon  him  to  represent  to  Mr 

T his  ruinous  extravagance — his  profligate  expenditure  of 

his  wife's  funds,  which  all  their  mutual  friends  were  lamenting 
and  reprobating,  he  was  treated  with  an  insolence  which  for 
ever  put  an  end  to  his  interference,  and  effectually  prevented 
that  of  any  other  party. 

All,  however,  might  yet  have  gone  right,  had  Mr  T paid 

but  a  moderate  attention  to  his  business;  for  his  father  had  the 
command  of  an  excellent  town  connexion,  which  soon  put 
enough  into  his  son's  hands  to  keep  two  clerks  in  regular  em- 
ployment. 

It  was  not  long  before  his  wife  was  shocked  by  hearing  her 
husband  make  incessant  complaints  of  the  drudgery  of  the  office, 
though  he  did  not  devote,  on  an  average,  more  than  two  or 
three  hours  a-day  to  it.  He  was  always  proposing  some  new 
party,  some  delightful  drive,  some  enchanting  excursion,  to  her, 
and  she  dared  not  refuse,  for  he  had,  already,  once  disclosed 
symptoms  of  a  most  imperious  temper  whenever  his  wiU  was 
interfered  with.  She  began  to  grow  very  uneasy,  as  she  saw 
him  drawing  cheque  after  cheque  on  their  banker,  without  once 
replacing  a  single  sura !  Good  God !  what  was  to  become  of 
them  ?  He  complained  of  the  tardy  returns  of  business ;  and 
yet  he  left  it  altogether  to  the  management  of  two  hired  clerks ! 
He  was  beginning  also  to  grow  irregular  in  his  habits ;  repeat- 
edly kept  her  waiting  for  hours,  expecting  his  return  to  dinner 
iu  vain ;  filled  his  table  with  frequent  draughts  from  the  gayest 
and  most  dissipated  of  his  professional  acquaintance,  whose 
uproar,  night  after  night,  alarmed  every  one  in  the  house,  and 
disturbed  even  the  neighbours.  Then  he  took  to  billiard -play- 
ing, and  its  invariable  concomitants — drinldng  and  late  hours; 
the  theatres,  frequented  alone  for  the  purpose — alas !  too  notori- 


212  DIARY  OF   A  LATE  PHTSICIAJf. 

ous  to  escape  even  the  chaste  ears  of  his  unfortunate  and  insulted 
wife — of  mingling  with  the  low  wretches — the  harpies — who 
frequent  the  slips  and  saloons;  then  "drinking  bouts"  at  taverns, 
and  midnight  "larks"  in  company  with  a  set  of  vulgar,  ignorant, 
young  coxcombs,  who  always  left  him  to  settle  the  reckoning. 

He  sent  one  of  the  clerks  to  his  banker's,  one  morning,  with  a 
cheque  for  £10;  which  proved  to  be  the  exact  amount  by  which 
he  had  "  overdrawn"  his  account- — and  worse — returned  without 
the  usual  accommodation  afforded.  He  was  a  little  dismayed 
at  finding  such  to  be  the  state  of  things,  and  went  up  stairs  to 
his  wife  to  tell  her  with  a  curse,  of  "  the  meanness,"  the  "d — d 
stinginess,"  of  Messrs  . 

"What!  Is  it  a  W  spent,  George?"  she  enquired,  in  a  gentle 
and  faint  tone  of  voice. 

"  Every  rap,  by  ,  Jane ! "  was  the  reply.     She  turned 

pale,  and  trembled,  while  her  husband,  putting  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  walked  sullenly  to  and  fro  about  the  parlour.     With 

trembling  hesitation,  Mrs  T alluded  to  the  near  approach 

of  her  confinement,  and  asked,  almost  inaudible  with  agitation 
and  the  fear  of  offending  him,  whether  he  had  made  any  provi- 
sion for  the  necessary  expenses  attending  it — had  laid  up  any 
thing.  He  replied  in  the  negative,  in  a  very  petulant  tone.  She 
could  not  refrain  from  shedding  tears. 

"  Your  crying  can't  mend  matters,"  said  he  rudely,  walking 
to  the  window,  and  humming  the  words  of  some  popular  air. 

"  Dear,  dear  George  !  have  you  seen  any  thing  in  my  conduct 
to  displease  you  ?  "  she  enquired,  wiping  her  eyes. 

"  Why  do  you  ask  me  that,  Mrs  T ? "  said  he,  walking 

slowly  towards  her,  and  eyeing  her  very  sternly.  She  trembled, 
and  had  scarcely  breath  enough  to  answer,  that  she  had  feared 
sach  might  have  been  the  case,  because  he  had  become  rather 
cool  towards  her  of  late. 

"  D'ye  mean  to  say,  ma'am,  that  I  have  used  you  ill,  eh  ? 
Because,  if  you  do,  it's  a  d " 

"  Oh  no,  no,  George !  I  did  not  mean  any  thing  of  the  kind ; 
but — but — kiss  me,  and  say  you  have  forgiven  me — do ! "  and  she 
rose  and  stepped  towards  him,  with  a  forced  smile.  He  gave  her 
his  cheek,  with  an  air  of  sullen  indifference,  and  said,  "  It's  no 


THE  WIFE. — CHAPTER  XV.  213 

use  blubbering  about  misfortunes,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 

The  fact  is,  something  must  be  done,  or ,  Tm  done!  Look 

here,  Jane  !  Bring  your  chair  there  a  minute  !  What  do  you 
say  to  these?"  He  pulled  out  of  his  pocket  a  crumpled  mass  of 
papers — bills  which  had  been  sent  in  during  the  week,  some  of 
them  of  several  months'  standing — £70  were  due  for  wine  and 
spirits  ;  £90  for  articles  of  his  dress  ;  £35  for  the  use  of  a  horse 
and  tilbury  ;  £10  for  cigars  and  snuffs  ;  and,  in  short,  the  above 
are  a  sample  of  items  -which  swelled  into  the  gross  amount  of 
more  than  £300 — all  due— all  from  creditors  who  refused  him 
longer  credit,  and  all  for  articles  which  had  ministered  nothing 
to  his  poor  wife's  comforts  or  necessities.  She  burst  into  tears 
as  she  looked  over  the  bills  scattered  on  the  table,  and,  flinging 
her  arms  round  her  husband's  neck,  implored  him  to  pay  more 
attention  to  business. 

"  I  tell  you,  I  do"  he  replied  impatiently,  suffering,  not 
returning,  her  affectionate  embrace. 

"  Well,  dearest  George !  I  don't  mean  to  blame  you" 

"  You  had  better  not,  indeed ! "  he  replied  coldly  ;  "  but  what's 
to  be  done,  eh  ? — That's  what  vv^e  ought  to  be  considering.     Do 

you  think — hem! — Jane— could   you,  do  you  think" He 

paused,  and  seemed  embarrassed. 

"  Could  I  luhat,  dear  George  ? "  she  enquired,  squeezing  his 
hands. 

"  D'ye  think — d'ye  think — but — no — I'll  ask  you  some  other 
day ! "  and  he  rose  from  his  chair.  What  will  be  imagined  vras 
his  request  ? — She  learnt  some  days  afterwards,  that  it  was  for 
her  to  use  her  influence  with  her  aunt,  an  old  widow  lady,  to 
lend  him  £500.     To  return,  however. 

He  was  standing  opposite  the  fire,  in  moody  contemplation, 
when  a  rude  puppy,  dressed  in  the  extreme  of  the  fashion,  with 
three  different  coloured  waistcoats  on — crossed  and  recrossed  by 
a  heavy  pewter-looking  chain — and  a  glossy  new  hat,  with  taper- 
ing crown,  stuck  with  an  impudent  air  on  the  left  side  of  his 
head — burst  unceremoniously  into  the  parlour,  and  disturbed  the 

sorrowful  tete-a-tete  of  T and  his  wife,  by  rushing  up  to 

the  former,  shaking  his  hands,  and  exclaiming  boisterously — 
"  Ah!  T ,  how  d'ye  do,  d — e?  Bill  Bunce's  Chaffer  has  beat 


214  DiABT  or  A  IjAte  physician. 

;  he  has  hy !  Tve  won  £15  on  it!— Oh  1  a  thousand 

pardons,  ma'am — I  didn't  see  you ;  but  there's  been  a  great  dog- 
fight you  see,  and  I  ha^e  been  luckier  than  what  Mr  T here 

has;  for  I've  won  £15,  and  he  has  lost  £20 !" 

This  scoundrel  was  one  of  T 's  bosom  friends !  Ay,  incre- 
dible as  it  may  seem,  it  was  for  such  worthless  fellows,  such 

despicable  blockheads  as  these,  that  Mr  T had  squandered 

his  generous  wife's  property,  and  forsaken  her  company !  On  the 
present  occasion, — a  sample  of  what  had  occurred  so  often  as  to 
cause — no  surprise — nothing  but  a  gush. of  bitter  tears  after  he 
was  gone, — T civilly  bade  her  good-morning,  departed  arm- 
in-arm  with  his  "  friend,"  and  did  not  return  till  past  two  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  almost  dead  drunk.  Had  he  seen  how  the 
remainder  of  the  day  was  spent  by  his  poor  wife — in  tears  and 
terror — unsoothed  by  the  thought  that  her  husband  was  absent 
on  errands  of  honourable  employment — content  with  making  a 
scanty  dinner  of  that  at  which  the  servant  "  turned  up  her  nose," 
as  the  phrase  is — and  sitting  the  rest  of  the  evening,  sewing  and 
shedding  tears  by  turns,  till  the  hour  of  midnight  warned  her  to 
retire  to  a  sleepless  bed ;  could  he  have  felt  the  hurried  beatings 
of  her  heart  whenever  her  wakeful  ear  fancied  she  heard  the 
sound  of  his  approaching  footsteps  on  the  pavement  beneath; 
could  he  have  done  this,  he  might  not  possibly,  on  waking  in 

the  morning,  have  called  her  a ,  nor  struck  her  on  the 

mouth  tiU  her  under  lip  was  half  cut  through,  for  presuming  to 
rouse  him  before  he  had  slept  off  the  fumes  of  the  brandy,  and 
all  he  had  drunk  over  night — in  order  that  he  might  be  in  time 
for  a  consultation  appointed  for  eleven  o'clock.  He  did  do  this ; 
and  I  was  the  first  person  on  earth  to  whom  she  reluctantly  told 
it — on  her  deathbed ! 

Though  her  delicate  and  interesting  situation — within  a  very 
few  weeks  of  her  accouchment — might  have  kindled  a  spark  of 
tenderness  and  pride  in  the  bosom  of  any  husband  who  had  not 
lost  all  the  feelings  of  honour  and  manliness,  it  suflSced,  appa- 
rently, to  inspire  T with  a  determination  to  treat  her  more 

unkindly  and  neglectfully  than  ever.  She  scarcely  ever  saw  him 
during  the  day ;  and  when  he  came  home  at  night — more  than 
once  conducted  by  the  watchman — he  was  almost  invariably 


THE  WIFE. — CHAPTER  XV.  215 

stupefied  with  liquor ;  and  if  he  had  the  power  of  utterance,  he 
seemed  to  take  a  demoniacal  pleasure  in  venting  upon  her  the 
foulest  expressions  which  he  could  recollect  being  used  by  the 
riflf-raff  of  the  taverns,  where  he  spent  his  time.  More  than  once 
was  she  so  horrified  with  what  he  said,  that,  at  the  peril  of  her 
life,  she  insisted  on  leaving  him,  and  sharing  the  bed  of  the  ser- 
vant girl !  Her  wretched  look  might  have  broken  a  heart  of 
stone ;  yet  it  afiected  not  that  of  the  wretch  who  called  her  his 
wife! 

A  few  days   after  the  occurrence  above  related,  the  maid- 
servant put  a  twopenny  post  letter  into  her  mistress's  hands  ;  and 

fortunate  it  was  for  Mrs  T that  the  girl  happened  to  be  in 

the  room  while  she  read  it,  awaiting  orders  for  dinner.  The 
note  was  in  these  words,  written  in  a  feigned  but  still  a  lady's 
hand : — 

"  Unfortunate  Madam  ! — I  feel  it  my  duty  to  acquaint  you 

that  your  husband,  Mr  T ,  is  pursuing   quite  disgraceful 

courses  all  night  and  day,  squandering  away  his  money  among 
sharpers  and  blacklegs,  and  that  he  is  persuaded  to  back  one  of 
the  boxers  in  a  great  fight  that  is  to  be ;  and,  above  all,  and  what 

I  blush  to  tell  you — but  it  is  fitting  Mrs  T should  know  it 

— in  my  opinion,  Mr  T is  notoriously  keeping  a  woman  of 

infamous  character,  with  whom  he  is  constantly  seen  at  the 
theatres  and  most  other  public  places,  and  she  passes  as  his 
cousin.  Hoping  that  you  will  have  prudence  and  spirit  to  act 
in  this  distressing  business  as  becomes  a  lady  and  a  wife,  I  am, 
madam,  with  the  truest  respect  and  sympathy, 

A  Real  Friend." 

Mrs  T read  this  cruel  letter  in  silence — motionless— and 

with  a  face  that  whitened  sensibly  as  she  proceeded ;  till,  at  the 
disgraceful  fact  mentioned  in  the  concluding  part,  she  dropped 
the  paper  from  her  hands — and  the  servant  ran  to  her  in  time 
to  prevent  her  falling  from  her  chair;  for  she  had  swooned!  It 
was  long  before  she  came  to ;  and,  when  that  was  the  case,  it 
was  only  that  she  might  be  carried  to  her  bed — and  she  was 
confined  that  evening.  The  chUd  was  still-born!  All  this 
came  on  the  husband  like  a  thunder-stroke,  and  shocked  him 
for  a  time,  into  something  like  sobriety  and  compunction.     The 


216  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHTSiCIAN. 

admirable  qualities  of  his  wife — her  virtues  and  her  meekness — 
shone  before  his  startled  eyes  in  angel  hues.  He  forsook  the  scenes, 
a  constant  frequenting  of  which  had  rendered  him  unworthy  to 
live  under  the  same  roof  with  her,  and  betook  himself  to  the 
regular  pursuits  of  business  with  great  earnestness.  He  soon  found 
out  what  arduous  up-hill  work  it  was  to  bring  again  under  his 
control  affairs  which  had  been  so  long  and  shamefully  neglected. 
He  felt  several  times  disposed  to  throw  it  all  over  in  disgust ; 
for,  alas  !  he  had  lost  almost  every  vestige  of  the  patience  and 
accuracy  of  business  habits.  He  succeeded,  with  great  difficulty, 
in  appeasing  the  more  clamorous  of  his  creditors,  and,  in  a  word, 
once  more  stood  a  chance  of  clearing  his  way  before  him.  His 
poor  wife,  however,  wa«  brought  several  times  to  the  very  verge  of 
the  grave,  and  was  destined  for  months  to  the  monotonous  hours 
of  a  bed  of  sickness.  For  nearly  a  month,  she  experienced  the 
most  affectionate  attentions  from  her  husband  that  were  consis- 
tent with  a  due  attention  to  the  business  of  his  office.  She  felt 
revived  and  cheered  by  the  prospect  of  his  renewed  attachment, 
and  trusted  in  its  permanency.  But,  alas  !  her  husband  was  not 
made  of  such  materials  as  warranted  her  expectations ;  he  was 
little  else  than  a  compound  of  weakness,  vanity,  ignorance,  and 
ill-temper ;  and  for  such  a  one,  the  sober  loveliness  and  attrac- 
tiveness of  domestic  life  had  no  charms.  He  had  no  sooner  got 
his  affairs  a  little  into  train,  and  succeeded  in  reviving  the  confi- 
dence of  some  of  his  principal  clients,  than  he  began  to  relax  his 
efforts.  One  by  one,  his  old  associates  drew  around  him,  and 
re-entangled  him  in  the  toils  of  dissipation.     Thefirst  time  that 

poor  ill-fated  Mrs  T came  down  into  the  parlour  to  dinner, 

after  a  three  months'  absence  in  her  sick-chamber,  she  was 
doomed  to  dine  alone — disappointed  of  the  promised  presence  of 
her  husband  to  welcome  her ;  for  the  same  low,  contemptible 
coxcomb,  formerly  introduced  to  the  reader  as  one  of  her  hus- 
band's most  intimate  friends,  had  called  in  the  course  of  the 
morning,  and  succeeded  in  enticing  him  away  to  a  tavern-dinner 
with  a  set  "of  good  'uns,"  who  were  afterwards  to  adjourn  to 
one  of  the  minor  theatres.  In  vain  was  the  little  fillet  of  veal, 
ordered  by  her  husband  himself,  placed  on  the  table  before  his 
deserted  wife ;  she  could  not  taste  it,  nor  had  strength  enough  to 


THE  WIFE. CUAi'TER  XV.  217 

carve  a  piece  for  the  nurse !  Mr  T had  had  the  grace  to 

send  her  a  note  of  apology,  alleging  that  his  absence  was  occa- 
sioned by  "  an  aft'air  of  business ! "  This  cruel  and  perfidious 
conduct,  however,  met  with  its  due  punishment.  One  of  his 
principal  creditors — his  tailor — happened  to  beswallowingahasty 
dinner  in  a  box  adjoining  the  one  in  which  T and  his  bois- 
terous associates  were  dining,  and  accidentally  cast  eyes  on  his 

debtor  T .     He  saw  and  heard  enough  to  fill  him  with  fury ; 

for  he  had  heard  his  own  name  mentioned  by  the  half-inebriated 
debtor,  as  one  of  the  '■'•  seroed-out  snips"  whom  he  intended  to 
"  do" — an  annunciation  wliich  was  received  by  the  gentlemanly 
young  men  who  were  dining  with  him,  with  cries  of  "  Bravo, 

T ,  do !  D — e,  I — and  I — and  I — have  done  it  before  this ! " 

The  next  morning  he  was  arrested  for  a  debt  of  £110,  at 
the  suit  of  the  very  "  snip"  whom  he  intended,  in  his  own 
witty  way,  to  "  do,"  and  carried  off  to  a  spunging-house  in 
Chancery  Lane.  There  he  lay  for  two  days  without  his  wife's 
knowing  any  thing  of  the  true  state  of  things.  He  could  get  no 
one  to  stand  bail  for  him,  till  one  of  his  wife's  insulted  friends, 
and  his  own  brother-in-law,  came  forward  reluctantly  for  that 
purpose,  in  order  to  calm  her  dreadful  agitation,  which  had 
flung  her  again  on  a  sick-bed.  Her  husband  wrote  her  a  most 
penitential  letter  from  the  spunging-house,  imploring  her  for- 
giveness for  his  misconduct,  and  promising  amendment.  Again 
she  believed  him,  and  welcomed  him  home  with  enthusiastic 
demonstrations  of  fondness.  He  himself  could  not  refrain  from 
weeping;  he  sobbed  and  cried  like  a  child;  for  his  feelings — 
what  with  the  most  pungent  sense  of  disgrace,  remorse,  and 
conscious  imworthiness  of  the  sweet  creature,  whose  affections 
no  misconduct  of  his  seemed  capable  of  alienating — were  quite 
overcome.  Three  of  his  chief  creditors  commenced  actions 
against  him,  and  nothing  seemed  capable  of  arresting  the  ruin 
now  impending  over  him.  Where  was  he  to  find  the  means  of 
satisfying  their  claims  ?  He  was  in  despair ;  and  had  sullenly 
and  stupidly  come  to  a  resolution  to  let  things  take  their  course, 
when,  as  if  Providence  had  determined  to  afford  the  miserable 
man  one  chance  more  of  retrieving  his  circumstances,  the  sud- 
den death  of  his  father  put  him  in  possession  of  £800  in  rea^^ly 


218  DIAET  or  A  LATE  PHTSICIAN. 

cash ;  and  this  sum,  added  to  £200  advanced  him  by  two  of  his 
wife's  friends,  who  could  not  resist  her  agonizing  supplications, 
once  more  set  matters  to  rights. 

*  ****** 

Passing  over  an  interval  of  four  years,  spent  with  disgrace  to 
himself,  and  anguish  to  his  wife,  similar  to  that  described  above, 
they  must  now  be  presented  to  the  reader,  occupying,  alas !  a 
lower  station  of  society.  They  had  been  compelled  to  relinquish 
an  airy,  respectable,  and  commodious  residence,  for  a  small,  bad 
house,  in  a  worse  neighbourhood.  His  business  had  dwindled 
down  to  what  was  insufficient  to  occupy  the  time  of  one  solitary 
clerk,  whom  he  was  scarcely  able  to  pay  regularly — and  the 
more  respectable  of  his  friends  had  utterly  deserted  him  in  dis- 
gust. The  most  rigorous — nay,  almost  starving — economy,  on 
the  part  of  his  wife,  barely  sufficed  to  "  make  both  ends  meet." 
She  abridged  herself  of  almost  every  domestic  comfort,  of  all 
those  little  elegances  which  a  well-bred  woman  loves  to  keep 
about  her — and  did  so  without  a  murmur.  The  little  income 
arising  from  the  £5000,  her  settlement  money,  might  surely,  of 
itself,  with  only  ordinary  prudence  on  his  part,  have  enabled 
them  to  maintain  their  ground  with  something  like  respecta- 
bility, especially  if  he  had  attended  to  what  remained  of  his 

business.     But,  alas!  alas!  T 's  temper  had,  by  this  time, 

been  thoroughly  and  permanently  soured.  He  hated  his  good 
wife — his  business — his  family — himself — every  thing,  except 
liquor  and  low  company !  His  features  bore  testimony  to  the 
sort  of  life  he  led — swelled,  bloated,  and  his  eyes  languid  and 

bloodshot.     Mrs  T saw  less  of  him  than  ever;  for,  not  far 

from  his  house,  there  was  a  small  tavern,  frequented  by  none 
but  the  meanest  underlings  of  his  profession;  and  there  was 

T to  be  found,  evening  after  evening,  smoking  and  drinking 

himself  into  a  state  of  stupid  insensibility,  till  he  would  return 
home  redolent  of  the  insufferable  stench  and  fumes  of  tobacco 
smoke,  and  brandy-and-water.  In  the  daytime,  he  was  often 
to  be  found  for  hours  together  at  an  adjoining  billiard-room, 
where  he  sometimes  lost  sums  of  money,  which  his  poor  wife 
was  obliged  to  make  up  for  by  parting,  one  by  one,  with  her 
little  trinkets  and  jewellery !  Wliat  could  have  infatuated  him 


THE  WIFE. — CHAPTER  XV.  219 

to  pursue  such  a  line  of  conduct?  it  may  be  asked — why,  as  if 
of  set  purpose,  ruin  the  peace  of  mind  of  one  of  the  fondest  and 
most  amiable  wives  that  ever  man  was  blessed  with !  A  vulgar, 
but  forcible  expression,  may  explain  all — it  was  "  the  nature  of 
the  beast."  He  had  no  intellectual  pleasures — no  taste  for  the 
quiet  enjoyments  of  home;  and  had,  above  all,  in  his  wife,  too 
sweet,  confiding,  and  unresisting  a  creature !  Had  she  proved  a 
termagant,  the  aspect  of  things  might  have  been  very  different; 
she  might  have  bullied  him  into  something  like  a  sense  of  pro- 
priety. Here,  however,  he  had  it  all  his  own  way — a  poor 
creature,  who  allowed  him  to  break  her  heart  without  remon- 
strance or  reproach ;  for  the  first  she  dared  not — the  second  she 
could  not.  It  would  have  broken  a  heart  of  stone  to  see  her! 
She  was  wasted  to  a  skeleton,  and  in  such  a  weak,  declining  state 
of  health,  that  she  could  scarcely  stir  out  of  doors.  Her  appe- 
tite was  almost  entirely  gone;  her  spirits  all  fled  long  ago! — 
Now,  shall  I  teU  the  reader  one  immediate  cause  of  such  physi- 
cal exhaustion !  I  will,  and  truly. 

Mr  T had  stiU  a  tolerable  share  of  business ;  but  he 

could  scarcely  be  brought  to  give  more  than  two  hours'  atten- 
dance in  his  office  a-day,  and  sometimes  not  even  that.  He 
therefore  imprudently  left  almost  every  thing  to  the  manage- 
ment of  his  clerk,  a  worthy  young  man,  but  wholly  incompetent 
to  such  a  charge.  He  had  extorted  from  even  his  idle  and 
unworthy  master  frequent  acknowledgments  of  his  obligations 
for  the  punctuality  with  which  he  transacted  all  that  was 
entrusted  to  him ;  and,  in  particular,  for  the  neatness,  accuracy, 
and  celerity  with  which  he  copied  drafts  of  pleadings,  leases, 
agreements,  &c.  His  master  often  hiccoughed  to  him  his  asto- 
nishment at  the  rapidity  with  which  he  "  turned  them  out  of 
hand;"  but  how  little  did  the  unworthy  fellow  imagine  that,  in 
saying  all  this,  he  was  uttering,  not  his  clerk's  but  his  wife's 
praises !  For  she  it  was,  poor  creature !  who,  having  taken  the 
pains  to  learn  a  lawyer's  hand,  engrossing,  &c.,  from  the  clerk, 
actually  sat  up,  almost  regularly,  till  two  or  three  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  plodding  perseveringly  through  papers  and  parchments 
— making  long  and  laborious  extracts — engrossing  settlements, 
indentures,  &c.,  and  copying  pleadings,  till  her  wearied  eyes,  and 


220  DIABY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

her  little  hands  could  no  longer  perform  their  office !  I  could 
at  this  moment  la}'  my  hands  on  a  certain  legal  instrument,  of 
tiresome  prolixity,  which  was  engrossed,  every  word,  by  Mrs 
T ! 

This  was  the  way  in  which  his  wife  spent  the  hours  of  mid- 
night, and  to  enable  him  to  squander  away  his  time  and  money 
in  the  unworthy,  the  infamous  manner  above  related ! 

Was  it  wonderful  that  her  health  and  spirits  were  wholly  borne 
down  by  the  pressure  of  so  many  accumulated  ills  ?  Had  not  her 
husband's  eye  been  dulled,  and  his  perceptions  deadened,  by  the 
perpetual  stupors  of  intoxication,  he  might  have  discerned  the 
hectic  flush — the  coming  fever — the  blood-spitting,  which  fore- 
tell consumption  !  But  that  was  too  much  to  be  expected.  As  for 
the  evenings — they  were  invariably  spent  at  his  favourite  tavern, 
sotting  hour  after  hour  among  its  lowest  frequenters  ;  and  as  for 
her  night-cough  and  blood-spitting,  he  was  lulled  by  liquor  into 
too  profound  a  repose,  to  be  roused  by  the  sounds  which  were,  in 
effect,  his  martyred  wife's  death-knell.  If,  during  the  daytime, 
he  was  in  a  manner  forced  to  remark  her  languor — her  drooping 
spirits — the  only  notice,  the  only  sympathy  it  called  forth  on  his 
part,  was  a  cold  and  careless  enquiry  why  she  did  not  call  in  a 
medical  man  !  I  shall  conclude  this  portion  of  my  narrative  with 
barely  reciting  four  instances  of  that  conduct  on  the  part  of 

Mrs  T 's  husband,  which  at  last  succeeded  in  breaking  her 

heart,  and  which,  with  many  other  similar  ones,  were  commu- 
nicated to  me  with  tears  of  tortured  sensibility. 

I.  Half  drunk,  half  sober,  he  one  evening  introduced  to  her, 
at  tea,  a  female  "  friend,"  whose  questionable  appearance  might, 
at  first  sight,  have  justified  his  wife's  refusal  to  receive  her.  Her 
conversation  soon  disclosed  her  real  character ;  and  the  insulted 
wife  abruptly  retired  from  the  room  that  was  polluted  by  the 
presence  of  the  infamous  creature  ■whom  he  avowed  to  be  his 
mistress !  He  sprung  after  her  to  the  door,  for  the  purpose  of 
dragging  her  back ;  but  her  sudden  paleness,  and  the  faint  tones 
in  which  she  whispered — "  Don't  stop  me — don't — or  I  shall 
die  ! "  so  shocked  him,  that  he  allowed  her  to  retire,  and  imme- 
diately dismissed  the  wretch,  whom  he  could  have  brought 
thither  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  insult  his  wife  !    Poorcrea- 


THE  WIFE. CUAPTEE  XV.  221 

ture!  did  a  portion  of  her  midnight  earnings  go  towards  the 
support  of  the  wretch  who  was  kept  by  lier  husband  ? 

II.  Having  occasion,  late  one  evening,  to  rummage  among 
ner  husband's  office  papers,  in  search  of  something  wliicli  was  to  be 
engrossed  that  night,  her  eye  happened  to  light  on  a  document, 
with  a  pencil  superscription — "  Copy,  case  for  counsel,  concern- 
ing  Mrs  T 's  marriage  settlement."  A  very  excusable  curio- 
sity prompted  her  to  peruse  what  proved  to  be  a  series  of  queries 
submitted  to  counsel,  on  the  following  points,  among  others : — 
What  present  powers  he  had  under  her  marriage  settlement  ? — 
whether  her  own  interest  in  it  could  be  legally  made  over  to 
another,  with  her  consent,  during  her  lifetime?  and,  if  so,  how? 
— whether  or  not  he  could  part  with  the  reversion,  provided  she 
did  not  exercise  her  power  of  willing  it  away  elsewhere  ? — From 
all  this,  was  it  possible  for  her  not  to  see  how  heartlessly  he  was 
calculating  on  the  best  method  of  obtaining  possession  of  the 
remnant  of  her  fortune  ? 

"Oh,  cruel — cruel  —  cruel  George!  So  impatient! — Could 
you  not  wait  a  month  or  two  ?  I'm  sure  I  shall  not  keep  you  out 
of  it  long !  I  always  intended  to  leave  it  to  you,  and  I  won't  let 
this  alter  my  mind,  though  it  is  cruel  of  you ! "  sobbed  Mrs 

T ,  till  her  heart  seemed  breaking.     At  that  moment  she 

heard  her  husband's  loud  obstreperous  knock  at  the  door,  and 
hastily  crumpling  up  the  paper  into  the  drawer  of  the  desk,  from 
which  she  had  taken  it,  she  put  out  the  candle,  and,  leaving  her 
midnight  labours,  flew  up  stairs  to  bed — to  a  wretched  and  sleep- 
less one ! 

III.  Mrs  T 's  child,  which  was  about  three  years  and  a 

half  old,  was  suddenly  seized  with  convulsive  fits,  as  she  was 
one  evening  undressing  it  for  bed.  Fit  after  fit  followed  in  such 
rapid  succession,  that  the  medical  man  who  was  summoned  in 
prepared  her  to  expect  the  worst.  The  distraction  of  her  feel- 
ings may  be  easier  conceived  than  described,  as  she  held  on  her 
knee  the  little  creature  on  whose  life  were  centred  all  the  proud 
and  fond  feehngs  of  a  mother's  love,  deepened  into  exclusive  in- 
tensity; for  it  seemed  the  only  object  on  earth  to  return  her 
love; — as  she  held  it,  I  say,  but  with  great  difficulty,  for  its 
tiny  limbs  were  struggling  and  plunging  about  in  a  dreadful 


222  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

manner.  And  then  the  frightM  rolling  of  the  eyes!  Tlicy 
were  endeavouring  to  pour  a  tea-spoonful  of  Dalby's  carmina- 
tive, or  some  such  medicine,  through  the  closed  teeth,  when  the 

room  door  was  suddenly  thrown  open,  and  in  reeled  Mr  T , 

more  than  half-seas  over  with  liquor,  and  in  a  merrier  mood 
than  usual,  for  he  had  been  successful  at  billiards !  He  had 
entered  unobserved  through  the  street  door,  which  had  been  left 
ajar  by  the  distracted  servant  girl;  and,  hearing  a  bustle  in  the 
room,  he  had  entered,  for  the  purpose  of  seeing  what  was  the 
matter. 

"Wh — wh — what  is   the  matter,  good  fo — oiks,  eh?"  he 

stammered,   reeling  towards  where   Mrs  T was  sitting, 

almost  fainting  with  terror  at  seeing  the  frightful  contortions 
of  her  infant's  countenance.  She  saw  him  not,  for  her  eyes 
were  fixed  in  agony  on  the  features  of  her  suffering  babe. 

"  What  the — the — the  d — 1  is  the  matter  with  all  of  you 
here,  eh?"  he  enquired,  chucking  the  servant  girl  under  the 
chin,  who,  much  agitated,  and  shedding  tears,  had  approached, 
to  beg  he  would  leave  the  room  He  tried  to  kiss  her,  and  in 
the  presence  of  the  medical  man — who  sternly  rebuked  him  for 
his  monstrous  conduct. 

"D — n  you,  sir — who  the  devil  are  youf"  he  said,  putting 
his  arms  a-kimbo — "  I  will  know  what's  the  matter! "  He  came 
near — he  saw  aU! — ^the  leaden-hued,  quivering  features — the 
limbs,  now  rigid,  then  struggling  violently — the  starting  eye- 
balls. 

"Why,  for  God's  sake,  what's  the  matter,  eh?"  he  stam- 
mered almost  inaudibly,  while  the  colour  fled  from  his  face, 
and  the  perspiration  started  upon  his  forehead.  He  strove  to 
steady  himself;  but  that  was  impossible.  He  had  drunk  too 
deeply. 

"  What  are  you  doing  to  the  child — what — what  ?"  he  again 
enquired,  in  a  feeble  and  faltering  voice,  interruped  by  a  hic- 
cough. No  notice  whatever  was  taken  of  him  'oy  his  wife,  who 
did  not  seem  to  see  or  hear  him. — "  Jane,  tell  me,"  addressing 
her  again,  "has  the  child  had — (hickup) — an — an — ac — ci — 
dent?"  The  infant  that  moment  gave  a  sudden  and  final 
plunge;  and  Mrs  T 's  faint  shriek,  and  the  servant  girl's 


THE  WIFE. CHAPTER  XV.  223 

wringing  of  the  hands,  announced  that  all  was  over!  The  little 
thing  lay  dead  in  the  arms  of  its  mother. 

"  Sir,  your  child  is  dead,"  said  the  apothecary  sternly,  shak- 
ing Mr  T by  the  arm — for  he  stood  gazing  on  the  scene 

with  a  sullen,  vacant  stare,  scarely  able  to  steady  himself. 

"  Wh — wh — at !  D — e — a — d?"  he  muttered  with  a  ghastly 
air. 

"  Oh !  George,  my  darling  is — is  dead ! "  groaned  the  afflicted 
mother,  for  the  first  time  looking  at  and  addressing  her  hus- 
band.    The  word  seemed  to  sober  him  in  an  instant. 

"  What !— Dead  ?     And  I  drunk  ! " 

The  medical  man,  who  stood  by,  told  me  he  could  never  for- 
get the  scene  of  that  evening!    When  Mrs  T discovered, 

by  his  manner,  his  disgraceful  condition,  she  was  so  utterly 
overcome  with  her  feelings  of  mingled  grief,  shame,  and  horror, 
that  she  fell  into  violent  hysterics,  which  lasted  almost  all  night 

long.    As  for  T ,  he  seemed  palsied  all  the  next  day.     He 

sat  alone  during  the  whole  of  the  morning,  in  the  room  where 
the  dead  infant  lay,  gazing  upon  it  with  emotions  which  may  be 
imagined,  but  not  described. 

IV.  Almost  the  only  piece  of  ornamental  furniture,  her  last 
remaining  means  of  amusement  and  consolation,  was  her  piano. 
She  played  with  both  taste  and  feeling,  and  many  a  time  con- 
trived to  make  sweet  sounds  pour  an  oblivious  charm  over  her 
sorrows  and  sufferings,  by  wandering  over  the  airs  which  she 
had  loved  in  happier  days.  Thus  was  she  engaged  one  after- 
noon with  one  of  Dr  Arne's  exquisite  compositions,  the  air 
beginning,  "  Blow,  blow,  thou  winter's  wind."  She  made 
several  attempts  to  accompany  the  music  with  her  voice — for 
she  once  had  a  very  sweet  one,  and  covld  sing — but,  whenever 
she  attempted,  the  words  seemed  to  choke  her.  There  was  a 
sorrowful  appropriateness  in  them,  a  touching  echo  of  her  own 
feelings,  which  dissolved  her  very  spirit  within  her.  Her  only 
child  had  died,  as  the  reader  was  informed,  about  six  months 
before,  and  her  husband  had  resumed  his  ill  courses,  becoming 
more  and  more  stern  and  sullen  in  his  demeanour — more  unrea- 
sonable in  his  requirements.  The  words  of  the  air,  as  may  be 
easily  conceived,  were  painfully  appropriate  to  her  situation, 


224  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

and  she  could  not  help  shedding  tears.  At  that  moment  her 
husband  entered  the  room  with  his  hat  on,  and  stood  for  some 
moments  before  the  fire  in  silence. 

"  Mrs  T ! "  said  he,  as  soon  as  she  had  concluded  the 

last  stanza. 

"  Well,  George ! "  said  she,  in  a  mild  tone. 

"  I — I  must  sell  that  piano,  ma'am — I  must!"  said  he. 

"  What ! "  exclaimed  his  wife,  in  a  low  whisper,  turning 
round  on  the  music-stool,  and  looking  him  in  the  face  with  an 
air  of  sorrowful  surprize.  "  Oh !  you  cannot  be  in  earnest, 
George ! " 

"  Ton  my  life,  ma'am,  but  I  am — I  can't  indulge  you  with 
superfluities  while  we  can  hardly  aflford  the  means  of  keeping 
body  and  soul  together." 

"  George — dear  George — do  forgive  me,  but  I — I — I  cannot 
part  with  my  poor  piano,"  said  she. 

"  Why  not,  ma'am,  when  I  say  you  must  ?" 

"  Oh !  because  it  was  the  gift  of  my  poor  mother ! "  she 
replied,  bursting  into  tears. 

"  Can't  help  that,  ma'am — not  I.  It  must  go.  I  hate  to 
hear  it's  cursed  noise  in  the  house — it  makes  me  melancholy — 
it  does,  ma'am — you're  always  playing  such  gloomy  music," 
replied  the  husband,  in  a  severe  and  less  decisive  tone. 

"  Well,  well !  if  that's  all,  I'll  play  any  thing  you  like — only 
tell  me,  dear  George !  what  shall  1  play  for  you  now  ? "  said 
she,  rising  from  the  music-stool  and  approaching  him. 

"Play  a  farewell  to  the  piano,  for  it  must  go,  and  it  shall!" 
he  replied  desperately. 

"  Dear,  kind  George !  let  me  keep  it  a  little  longer,"  said 
she,  looking  him  beseechingly  in  the  face — "  a  little — a  little 
longer" 

"  Well,  ma'am,  sit  down  and  play  away  till  I  come  in  again, 
any  thing  you  like." 

He  left  the  room,  and  in  less  than  half  an  hour — oh,  hardness 
of  heart  unheard  of ! — returned  with  a  stranger,  who  proved  to 
be  a  furniture-broker,  come  to  value  the  instrument!  That 
evening  it  was  sold  to  him  for  =£15,  and  it  was  carried  away  the 
first  thing  in  the  morning,  before  his  wife  came  down  stairs! 


THE  WIFE. — CHAPTER  XV.  225 

What  will  be  supposed  the  occasion  of  this  cruelty  ?     It  was  to 

furnish  Mr  T with  money  to  pay  a  bill  of  the  infamous 

creature  more  than  once  alluded  to,  and  who  had  obtained  a 
complete  ascendency  over  him  ! 

It  was  a  long-continued  course  of  such  treatment  as  this  that 
called  me  upon  the  scene,  in  a  professional  capacity,  merely,  at 
first,  till  the  mournful  countenance  of  my  patient  inspired  me 
with  feelings  of  concern  and  friendly  sympathy,  which  even- 
tually led  to  an  entire  confidence.  She  came  to  me  in  the 
unostentatious  character  of  a  morning  patient,  in  a  hackney- 
coach,  with  an  elderly  female  friend.  She  looked  quite  the  lady, 
though  her  dress  was  but  of  an  ordinary  quality,  yet  exquisitely 
neat  and  clean  ;  and  she  had  still  a  very  interesting  and  some- 
what pretty  face,  though  long-continued  sorrow  had  made  sad 
havoc  with  her  features  !  These  visits,  at  intervals  of  a  week, 
she  paid  me,  and  compelled  me  to  take  my  fee  of  one  guinea  on 
each  occasion — though  I  would  have  given  two  to  be  enabled  to 
decline  it  without  hurting  her  delicacy.  Though  her  general 
health  had  sutFered  severely,  still  I  thought  that  matters  had  not 
gone  quite  so  far  as  to  destroy  all  hopes  of  recovery,  with  due 
attention ;  though  her  cheeks  disclosed,  almost  every  evening, 
the  death-rose — the  grave-flower — of  hectic,  and  night-sweats 
and  a  faint  cough  were  painfully  regular  in  their  recurrence , 
stiU  I  saw  nothing,  for  a  long  time,  to  warrant  me  in  warning 
her  of  serious  danger.  I  insisted  on  her  allowing  me  to  visit 
her  at  her  own  house,  and  she  at  last  permitted  me,  on  condition 
that  I  would  receive,  at  least,  half-a-guinea — poor  creature  ! — 
for  every  visit.  That,  however,  I  soon  dropped ;  and  I  saw  her 
almost  every  day  gratuitously,  whenever  any  temporary  aggra- 
vations of  her  symptoms  required  my  attendance.  The  first 
time  I  saw  her  husband,  I  could  not  help  taking  a  prejudice 
against  him,  though  she  had  never  breathed  a  syllable  to  me  of 
his  ill  conduct.  He  was  apparently  about  forty  years  old, 
though  his  real  age  was  not  more  than  two  or  three-and-thirty. 
His  manners  and  habits  had  left  a  sufficiently  strong  impress 
upon  him  to  enable  a  casual  beholder  to  form  a  shrewd  conjec- 
ture as  to  his  character.  His  features,  once  rather  handsome 
than  otherwise,  were  now  reddened  and  swollen  with  long- 

1  .     F 


226  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

continued  excess  ;  and  there  was  altogether  an  air  of  truculence 
— of  vulgar  assurance  and  stupid  suUenness  about  him,  which 
prepossessed  me  strongly  against  him.    When,  long  afterwards, 

Mrs  T gave  me  that  description  of  his  appearance  and 

manners  under  which  he  is  first  placed  before  the  reader  of  this 
narrative,  I  could  not  help  frequently  interrupting  her  with 
expressions  of  incredulity,  and  reminding  her  of  his  present  ill- 
favoured  looks  ;  but  as  she  went  on  with  her  sad  story,  my  scep- 
ticism vanished.  Personal  deterioration  was  no  incredible 
attendant  on  moral  declension  i     *     *     * 

March  28, 18 — . — There  can  be  no  longer  any  doubt  as  to  the 

nature  of  Mrs  T 's  symptoms.     She  is  the  destined  victim 

of  consumption.  The  oftener  I  go  to  her  house,  the  stronger  are 
my  suspicions  that  she  is  an  unhappy  woman,  and  that  her  hus- 
band ill-uses  her.  I  have  many  times  tried  to  hint  my  suspi- 
cions to  her,  but  she  will  declare  nothing.  She  will  not  under- 
stand me.  Her  settled  despondency,  however,  accompanied  with 
an  under-current  of  feverish  nervous  trepidation,  which  she 
cannot  satisfactorily  explain,  convinces  me  something  or  other 
is  wrong.  I  see  very  little  of  her  husband,  for  be  is  scarcely 
ever  in  her  company  when  I  call.  Though  his  profession  is  that 
of  an  attorney,  and  his  house  and  office  are  one,  I  see  scarcely 
any  indications  of  business  stirring.  I  am  afraid  they  are  in 
sinking  circumstances.  I  am  sure  that  she,  at  least,  was  bom 
and  bred  for  a  station  superior  to  that  she  now  occupies.  Her 
manners  have  that  simplicity,  ease,  and  elegance,  which  tell  of 
a  higher  rank  in  society.  I  often  detect  her  alone  in  tears,  over 
a  low  fire.  In  a  word,  I  am  sure  she  is  wretched,  and  that  her 
husband  is  the  cause  of  it.  That  he  keeps  late  hours,  I  hnow, 
for  she  happened  to  let  slip  as  much  one  day  to  me,  when  I  was 
making  enquiries  about  the  time  of  her  retiring  to  sleep.  I  feel 
a  great  interest  in  her ;  for,  whenever  I  see  her,  she  reminds  me 
of  "  Patience  on  a  monument,  smiling  at  Grief" — of 

"  Sorrow  deck'd 
In  the  poor  faded  gart  of  taniish'd  joy, 
111  fitting  to  her  wasted  form." 

April  ott.— To-day  I  found  them  both  together,  sittmg  one  on 
each  side  of  tli«  fireplace,  he  smoking — in  the  parlour ;  and  she, 


THE    WIFE. CHAPTER  XV.  227 

with  a  little  needlework  in  her  lap.  I  thought  he  seemed  some- 
what embarrassed  at  my  entrance ;  which  probably  had  put  an 
end  to  some  scene  of  unpleasantness,  for  her  face  was  suffused 
with  crimson.  It  soon  retired,  however,  and  left  the  wanness  to 
which  I  had  been  accustomed  in  her. 

"  So,  my  wife's  ill,  sir,  it  seems  ?  "  said  Mr  T — ■ —  abruptly, 
putting  his  pipe  on  the  hob. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  say  she  is,  Mr  T ,"  I  replied,  "  and  that  she 

is  worse  to-day  than  she  has  been  for  some  time." 

Mrs  T let  fall  tears. 

"  Sorry  to  hear  you  say  so,  doctor ;  I've  just  been  telling  her  it's 
all  owing  to  her  own  obstinacy  in  not  calling  earlier  on ." 

"  I  think  you  might  have  used  a  milder  word,  sir,"  said  I, 
with  involuntary  sternness,  at  the  same  time  directing  my  atten- 
tion exclusively  to  his  wife — as  if  for  the  purpose  of  hinting  the 
propriety  of  his  retiring. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  her,  sir  ? "  he  enquired,  in  a  more 
respectful  tone  than  he  had  hitherto  assumed. 

"  General  debility,  sir,  and  occasional  pain,"  said  I  coldly. 

"  What's  it  owing  to  ?  " 

I  looked  suddenly  at  Mrs  T ;  our  eyes  met — and  hers 

had  an  expression  of  apprehension.  I  determined,  however,  to 
give  a  hint  that  I  suspected  all  was  not  right,  and  replied — "  I 
fear  she  does  not  take  suitable  nourishment,  keeps  irregulai 
hours,  and  has  something  or  other  on  her  mind  which  harasses 
her."  The  latter  words  I  accompanied  with  a  steady  look  into 
his  face.     He  seemed  a  little  flushed. 

"  You're  mistaken,  sir,"  said  he,  with  a  hrusque  air  ;  she  may 
eat  what  she  likes — that  I  can  afford — may  go  to  bed  at  what 
hour  she  likes — and  it's  all  her  own  fault  that  she  will  sit  moping 
over  the  fire,  night  after  night,  and  week  after  week,  waiting  for 
my  return,  till  two  or  three  o'clock  in  the  morning" 

"  That  is,  of  itself,  sufficient  to  account  for  her  illness,"  said 
I  pointedly.  He  began  to  lose  his  temper,  for  he  saw  the  shame- 
ful acknowledgment  he  had  unwittingly  made.     "  Pray,  Mrs 

T ,"  he  enquired,  looking  angrily  at  his  wife,  who  sat  pale 

and  trembling  by  my  side — "  Have  you  any  thing  on  your  mind, 
eh  ?     If  so — why,  speak  out — no  sneaking  !"* 


228  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

"  No ! "  she  stammered ;  "  and  I  never  said  I  had,  I  assure  you. 
Did  I  ever  give  you  even  the  most  distant  hint  of  the  kind,  doC' 
tor?"  she  continued,  appealing  to  me. 

"  By  no  means,  madam,  not  in  the  slightest,  on  any  occasion," 
I  replied  ;  "  it  vras  only  a  conjecture — a  suspicion  of  my  own." 
I  thought  he  looked  as  if  he  would  have  made  some  instant  reply, 
for  his  eye  glared  furiously  on  me.  He  bit  his  lips,  however, 
and  continued  silent.     His  conscience  "  pricked  him."    I  began 

to  feel  uneasy  about  the  future  quiet  of  Mrs  T ,  lest  any 

observations  of  mine  should  have  excited  her  husband's  suspi- 
cions that  she  had  made  disclosures  to  me  of  family  matters. 

"  What  would  you  advise  for  her,  sir  ?  "  he  asked  coldly. 

"  Removal  for  a  few  weeks  to  the  sea-side,  a  liberal  diet,  and 
lively  society." 

"  Very  well,  sir,"  said  he,  after  a  puzzled  pause  ;  "  very  good, 
sir — very ;  it  shall  be  attended  to.  Perhaps  you  want  to  be 
alone— eh  ? — So  I'll  leave  you  ! "  and  directing  a  peculiar  look 
towards  his  wife,  as  if  warning  her  against  something  or  other, 
he  left  the  room.     She  burst  into  tears  directly  he  was  gone. 

"  My  dear  madam,  forgive  me  for  saying  that  I  suspect  your 
husband's  behaviour  towards  you  is  somewhat  harsh,  and,  per- 
haps, unkind"  said  I,  in  as  soothing  a  tone  as  I  could  command, 
and  pressing  her  hand  kindly  into  mine. 

"Oh,  no,  doctor — no!"  she  replied,  adding  abruptly,  in  an 
altered  manner,  indicating  displeasure,  "  What  makes  you  think 
so,  sir?" 

"  Why,  madam,  simply  because  I  cannot  shut  my  eyes  or  my 
ears  to  what  passes  even  while  I  am  here  ;  as  for  instance,  only 
just  now,  madam — ^just  now." 

She  sighed,  and  made  me  no  reply.  I  told  her  I  was  in 
earnest  in  recommending  the  course  I  had  mentioned  to  her 
husband. 

"  Oh  dear,  doctor,  no,  no  ! — we  could  not  aflFord  it,"  said  she, 
with  a  sigh.  At  that  moment  her  husband  returned,  and  re- 
sumed his  former  seat  in  sullen  silence.  I  soon  after  took  my 
departure. 

April  7th. — Does  not  the  following  make  one  blush  for  one's 
species  ?     I  give  it  nearly  as  I  received  it  from  the  lips  of  Mrs 


THE  WIFE, CHAPTER  XV.  '229 

r .    Inestimable  ■woman !  why  are  you  fated  to  endure  such 

pangs  ? 

About  twelve  o'clock  at  noon,  hearing  her  husband  come  in, 
and  thinking  from  his  looks,  of  which  she  caught  a  casual  and 
hasty  glance  through  the  window,  that  he  was  fatigued,  and 
stood  in  need  of  some  refreshment,  she  poured  out  a  glass  of  port 
wine,  almost  the  last  in  a  solitary  bottle  which  she  had  purchased, 
under  my  directions,  for  medicinal  purposes,  and,  with  a  biscuit, 
brought  it  herself  down  stairs,  though  the  effort  so  exhausted 
her  feeble  frame,  that  she  was  obliged  to  sit  down  for  several 
moments  on  the  last  stair,  to  recover  her  breath.  At  last,  she 
ventured  to  knock  at  the  door  of  the  back  office  where  he  was 
sitting,  holding  the  little  waiter  with  the  glass  of  wine  and  the 
biscuit  in  her  left  hand. 

"  Who's  there  ?"  enquired  the  gruff  voice  of  T . 

"  It's  only  I,  my  dear.  May  I  come  in,  please  ?"  replied  the 
gentle  voice  of  the  wife. 

"  What  brings  you  here,  eh  ? — What  the  d — 1  do  you  want 
with  me  now  ?"  said  he  surlily. 

"  I've  brought  you  something,  ray  dear,"  she  replied,  and  ven- 
tured to  open  the  door.     T was  sitting  before  some  papers 

or  parchments,  alone,  and  his  countenance  showed  that  he  was 
in  a  worse  humour  than  usual.  On  seeing  her  errand,  he  sud- 
denly rose  from  his  chair,  exclaiming,  in  an  angry  tone — "  What 

the brings  you  here  in  this  way,  plaguing  me  while  engaged 

at  business,  you ! — Eh,  woman  ?  "  and.  Oh,  my  God  !  in  a 

sudden  fit  of  fury,  he  struck  the  waiter,  wine,  biscuit,  and  all, 
out  of  her  trembling  hands  to  the  floor,  rudely  pushed  her  out 
of  the  room,  and  slammed  the  door  violently  in  her  face.  He 
did  not  re-open  it,  though  he  could  not  but  have  heard  her  fall 
upon  the  floor,  the  shock  was  so  sudden  and  violent. 

There,  stretched  across  the  mat,  at  the  bottom  of  the  staircase, 
lay  that  suffering  creature,  unable  to  rise,  till  her  stifled  sobbings 
brought  the  servant  girl  to  her  assistance. 

"  I  can't  help  saying  it's  most  abominable  usage  of  you,  ma'am  ; 
it  is — and  I  don't  care  if  master  hears  me  say  so  neither,"  said 
the  girl,  herself  crying ;  "  for  I'm  sure  he  isn't  worthy  of  the 
very  shoes  you  wear — he  isn't."     She  was  endeavouring  to  lift 


230  DIAKY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

her  mistress,  when  Mrs  T suddenly  burst  into  a  loud  unna- 
tural laugh,  and  went  off  into  violent  hysterics.     Mr  T • 

hearing  the  noise  of  talking  and  laughing,  sprung  to  the  door 
threw  it  open,  and  shouted  to  them  to  be  "  off  with  their  noise — 
disturbing  business  !"  but  the  piteous  spectacle  of  his  prostrate 
wife  stopped  him ;  and,  almost  petrified  with  horror,  he  knelt 
down  for  the  purpose  of  assisting  her  all  he  could.     *      *      » 

About  an  hour  after  this  occurrence,  I  happened  to  call,  and 
found  her  lying  in  bed,  alone,  her  husband  having  left  her  on 
business.  When  the  servant  told  me — and  her  mistress  reluc- 
tantly corroborated  what  she  said — the  circumstances  above 
related,  I  felt  such  indignation  swelling  my  whole  frame,  that 
had  he  been  within  reach,  I  could  not  have  resisted  caning  the 
scoundrel  within  an  inch  of  his  unworthy  life !  The  recollec- 
tion of  this  occurrence  tortures  me  even  now,  and  I  can  hardly 

believe  that  such  brutality  as  T 's  could  have  been  shown 

by  man ! 

Mrs  T kept  her  room  from  that  hour,  and  never  left  it 

till  she  was  carried  out  for  burial !     But  this  is  anticipating. 

April  8th,  9th,  lOth,  Uth.—I  see  clearly  that  poor  Mrs  T 

will  never  rise  from  her  bed  again.  She  has  drained  the  bitter 
cup  of  grief  to  the  dregs  !  She  is  one  of  the  meekest  sufiFerers 
I  ever  had  for  a  patient.  She  says  little  to  me  or  to  any  one ; 
and  shows  a  regard — a  love  for  her  unworthy  husband,  which,  I 
think,  can  be  called  by  no  other  name  than  absolute  infatuation. 
I  have  never  yet  heard  her  breathe  a  hint  to  his  disadvantage. 
He  is  not  much  with  her ;  and  from  what  little  I  have  seen,  I 
feel  convinced  that  his  eyes  are  opening  to  a  sense  of  the  flagrant 
iniquity  of  his  past  conduct.  And  what  are  the  effects  pro- 
duced by  his  feelings  of  shame  and  remorse?  He  endeavours 
to  forget  all  in  the  continual  stupor  induced  by  liquor ! 

April  12th. — Mrs  T delirious.     Raved  while  I  was  there 

about  her  child — convulsions — said  something  about  "  cruel  of 

Mr  T to  be  drunk  while  his  child  lay  dying ;"  and  said 

many  other  things  which  shocked  me  unutterably,  and  con- 
vinced me  that  her  primary  disorder  was — a  broken  heart.  I  am 
sure  she  must  have  endured  a  series  of  brutal  usage  from  her 
husband. 


THE  WIFE. CHAPTER  XV.  231 

April  \MJi. — The  whole  house  upside  down — in  disorder  and 
confusion  from  the  top  to  the  bottom — for  there  is  an  execution 
in  it,  and  the  officers  and  an  appraiser  are  mailing  an  inventory 

of  the  furniture — poor,  poor  Mrs  T lying  all  the  while  on 

her  deathbed  !  The  servant  told  me  afterwards,  that  her  mis- 
tress, hearing  strange  steps  and  voices,  called  to  know  what  was 
the  cause ;  and,  on  receiving  word  of  the  real  state  of  matters, 
lifted  up  her  hands,  burst  into  an  agony  of  weeping,  and  prayed 
that  the  Almighty  would  be  pleased  to  remove  her  from  such 

a  scene  of  wretchedness.     T himself,  I  learned,  was  sitting 

cowering  over  the  kitchen  fire,  crying  like  a  child !  Brute ! 
coward !  fool ! 

Such  was  the  state  of  things  at  the  time  of  my  arrival.    I  was 

inconceivably  shocked,  and  hurried  to  Mrs  T 's  room  with 

unusual  haste  and  trepidation.  I  found  her  in  tears — sobbing, 
and  exclaiming,  "  Why  won't  they  let  us  rest  a  little !  why  strip 
the  house  before  I  am  gone  ?  can  they  not  wait  a  little  ?  where, 
where  is  Mr  T ?  " 

I  could  not  for  several  minutes  speak  myself,  for  tears.  At 
length  I  succeeded  in  allaying  her  excitement  and  agitation.  At 
her  request,  I  sent  for  the  appraiser  into  her  room.  He  came, 
and  seemed  a  respectable  and  feeling  man. 

"  Are  you  bent  upon  stripping  the  house,  sir,  while  this  lady 
is  lying  in  her  present  dangerous  stale  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  sir,  indeed,  sir,"  replied  the  man  with  considerable 
emotion — "  I'm  sorry  for  it — very ;  but  it  is  my  duty — duty — 
ordered" — he  continued  confusedly;  "if  I  had  my  own  way, 
sir  " 

"  But  at  least  you  need  not  approach  this  chamber,  sir,"  said 
I,  rather  sternly.     He  stammered  something  like  the  words, 

"  obliged — sorry — court  of  law,"  &c.     Mrs  T again  burst 

into  an  agony  of  tears. 

"  Retire,  sir,  for  the  present,"  said  I  in  an  authoritative  tone, 
"  and  we  will  send  for  you  soon."  I  then  entered  into  conver- 
sation with  my  poor  persecuted  patient,  and  she  told  me  of  the 
£5000  settled  to  her  separate  use,  and  which  she  intended,  under 
a  power  in  the  deed  of  settlement,  to  will  to  her  husband.  I 
spontaneously  promised  to  stand  security  for  the  satisfaction  of 


232  DIAKI  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

the  execution,  provided  the  creditors  would  defer  proceedings 
for  three  months.  She  blessed  me  for  it !  This,  however,  I 
afterwards  learned,  would  be  illegal — at  least  so  I  was  told ;  and 
I  therefore  wrote  a  cheque  on  my  banker  for  the  amount  awarded 
by  the  court,  and  thus  put  an  end  to  distress  from  that  quarter. 

At  Mrs  T 's  urgent  request,  I  returned  to  her  bedside  that 

evening.  I  found  a  table  with  writing  materials  placed  before 
a  chair,  in  which  she  begged  me  to  be  seated.  She  then  dic- 
tated to  me  her  will,  in  which,  after  deducting  the  sum  I  had 
advanced  in  satisfaction  of  the  execution,  and  leaving  me  in  ad- 
dition sufficient  to  purchase  a  plain  mourning  ring,  she  bequeath- 
ed the  whole,  absolutely  and  unreservedly,  to  her  husband  ;  and 
added,  my  hand  shaking  while  I  wrote  it  down,  "hoping  that  he 
will  use  it  prudently,  and  not  entirely  forget  me  when  I  am  gone. 
And  if  he  should — if  he  should;"  her  utterance  was  choked — 
"  and  if  lie  should — marry  again ; "  again  she  paused. 

"Dear,  dear  madam!  compose  yourself !  Take  time!  This 
dreadful  agitation  will  accelerate  the  event  we  are  all  dreading ! " 
said  I. 

"  No — don't  fear.  I  beg  you  will  go  on ! — If  he  should  marry 
again,  may  he  use  her — use  her — No,  no,  no  ! — strike  all  the  last 
clause  out !  Give  me  the  pen  ! "  I  did  as  she  directed  me — struck 
out  from  the  words,  "  and  if  he  should,"  &c.,  and  put  the  pen 
into  her  hand.  With  trembling  fingers  she  traced  the  letters  of 
her  name ;  I  witnessed  it,  and  she  said,  "  Now,  is  all  right  ?  " — 
"  Yes,  madam,"  I  replied.  She  then  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears, 
exclaiming,  "  Oh,  George !  George !  this  will  show  you  that, 
however  tired  you  may  have  grown  of  jne,  I  have  loved  you  to 
the  end — I  have — I  have — ! "  She  burst  into  louder  weeping. 
"  Oh !  it's  hard,  it's  very  hard  to  part  with  him,  though  he 
might — he  might  have  used  me — No ! "  She  paused.  I  suffered 
her  excited  feelings  to  grow  calm  ;  and,  after  some  time  spent  in 
endeavouring  to  soothe  her,  I  took  my  departure,  after  witness- 
ing one  of  the  most  heart-breaking  scenes  I  have  ever  encoun- 
tered. Her  husband  could  not  be  prevailed  on  to  enter  her 
room  that  day ;  but  all  night  long,  I  was  told,  he  sat  outside 
the  door,  on  one  of  the  steps  of  the  stairs,  and  more  than  once 
startled  her  with  his  sighs. 


THE  WIFE. CHAPTER  XV.  233 

April  I4tk  to  May  Qtk. — Sinking  rapidly.  I  shall  be  astonished 
if  she  survive  a  week.  She  is  comparatively  in  a  happy  frame 
of  mind,  and  has  availed  herself  of  the  consolations  of  religion 
to  happy  purpose.  On  this  day  (May  6th)  I  succeeded  in 
extracting  from  her  the  facts  which  compose  the  former  part  of 
this  narrative.  Her  gentle  palliating  way  of  telling  it,  divested 
the  conduct  of  her  husband  of  almost  all  blame-worthiness  !  She 
will  not  allow  me  to  make  a  harsh  or  condemnatory  comment 
all  the  way  through !  She  censured  herself  as  she  went  on ; 
accused  herself  of  want  of  firmness ;  said  she  was  afraid  Mr 

T had  been  disappointed  in  her  disposition  ;  said  that,  if  he 

HAD  done  any  thing  wrong,  it  was  owing  to  the  bad  companions 
■who  had  enticed  him  from  the  path  of  duty  into  that  of  dissipa- 
tion ;  that  he  had  not  exactly  neglected  her,  or  wilfully  ill-used 
her  ;  but — but — 'twas  all  in  vain — she  could  say  nothing  to 
extenuate  his  guilt,  and  I  begged  her  not !  I  left  her,  in  tears 
myself. 

O  woman !  woman !  woman !  "  We  had  been  brutes  without 
you,"  and  the  mean  and  miserable  T was  a  brute  ioitliyou.1 

May  8th. — Mrs  T wasted  to  a  shadow;  all  the  horrors  of 

consumption !  Her  husband,  though  apparently  broken-hearted, 
cannot,  though  probably  no  one  will  believe  it — he  cannot  refrain 
from  frequenting  the  public-house  !  He  pretends  that  his  spirits 
are  so  low,  so  oppressed,  that  he  requires  the  aid  of  stimulating 

liquors  !  Mrs  T made  me  promise  this  morning  that  I  would 

see  her  coffin  closed  ;  and  a  small  locket  containing  a  portion  of 
her  child's  and  husband's  hair,  placed  next  her  heart.  I  nodded 
acquiescence,  for  my  tongue  refused  me  words.     I  felt  choked. 

loth. — I  was  summoned  this  evening  to  witness  the  exit  from 
our  world  of  one  of  the  sweetest,  loveliest  spirits,  that  it  was, 
and  is,  unworthy  of!  1  was  sent  for,  not  under  the  apprehension 
that  her  end  was  at  hand,  but  on  account  of  some  painful  symp- 
toms which  had  manifested  themselves  since  my  visit  in  the 
morning.  It  was  about  nine  o'clock  when  I  arrived,  and  found 
her  in  a  flow  of  spirits  very  unexpected,  and  rather  unusual  in 
her  situation.  Her  eye  was  bright,  and  she  could  talk  with  a 
"  clearness  and  rapidity  of  utterance,  to  which  she  had  long 
been  a  stranger.     She  told  me  that  she  had  been  awakened  from 


234  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

sleep  by  hearing  the  sound  of  sweet  singing,  which,  I  need  hardly 
say,  was  wholly  imaginary.  She  was  in  a  very  happy  frame  of 
mind ;  but  evidently  in  a  state  of  dangerous  excitement.  Her 
sottish  husband  was  sitting  opposite  the  fire,  his  face  entirely 
hid  in  his  hands ;  and  he  maintained  a  stupid  silence,  undis- 
turbed even  by  my  entrance.    Mrs  T thanked  me,  in  almost 

enthusiastic  terms,  for  my  attention  to  her  throughout  her  illness, 
and  regretted  that  I  would  not  allow  her  to  testify  her  sense  of 
it,  by  leaving  me  a  trifling  legacy. 

"  George — George ! "  she  exclaimed,  with  sudden  and  startling 
energy — an  impetuosity  of  tone,  which  brought  him  in  an 
instant,  with  an  affrighted  air,  to  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

"  George,  I've  a  message  rBOM  Heaven  for  you !  Listen — 
God  will  never  bless  you,  unless  you  alter  your  courses!"  The 
man  shrunk  and  trembled  under  the  burning,  overpowering 
glance  of  her  eye.     "  Come,  dearest,"  said  she  after  a  pause,  in 

an  altered  tone,  "  Come — Doctor will  let  you  sit  beside  me 

for  a  few  moments ! "  I  removed,  and  made  way  for  him.  She 
clasped  his  hand  in  hers. 

"Well,  George,  we  must- part!"  said  she,  closing  her  eyes, 
and  breathing  softly,  but  fast.  Her  husband  sobbed  like  a  child, 
with  his  face  buried  in  his  handkerchief. — "  Do  you  forgive 
me  ?  "  he  murmured,  half  choked  with  emotion. 

"  Yes,  dear — dear — dearest  husband ! — God  knows  I  do,  from 
my  heart!  I  forgive  all  the  little  you  have  ever  grieved  me 
about ! " 

"  Oh,  Jane — Jane — Jane ! "  groaned  the  man,  suddenly  stoop- 
ing over  the  bed,  and  kissing  her  lips  in  an  apparent  ecstasy. 
He  fell  down  on  his  knees,  and  cried  bitterly. 

"  Rise,  George,  rise,"  said  his  wife  faintly.  He  obeyed  her, 
and  she  again  clasped  his  hand  in  hers. 

"  George,  are  you  here — are  you  ? "  she  enquired,  in  a  voice 
fainter  and  fainter. 

"  Here  I  am,  love ! — oh,  look  on  me !- — look  on  me ! "  He 
sobbed,  gazing  steadily  on  her  features.  "  Say  once  more  that 
you  forgive  me!    Let  me  hear  your  dear,  blessed  voice  once 

again — or — or  " 

"  I  DO !  Kiss  me— kiss  me,"  she  murmured  almost  inaudibly ; 


THE  WIFE. CHAPTER  XV.  235 

and  her  unworthy — her  guilty — husband  kissed  away  the  last 
expiring  breath  of  one  of  the  loveliest  and  most  injured  women, 
whose  hearts  have  been  broken  by  a  husband's  brutality! 

12th. — This  evening  I  looked  in  at  the  house  where  my  late 
patient  lay  dead,  for  the  purpose  of  fulfilling  my  promise,  and 
seeing  her  locket  placed  near  her  heart,  and  the  cofSn  closed. 
I  then  went  into  the  parlour,  where  sat  the  bereaved  husband, 
in  company  with  his  clerk,  who  had,  ever  since  his  engagement, 

shown  a  deep  regard  and  respect  for  Mrs  T .     After  I  had 

sat  some  moments  in  their  company — 

"  I've  something  on  my  mind,  Mr  T ,"  said  the  young 

man  suddenly,  with  emotion,  "  which  I  shall  not  be  happy  till 
I've  told  you." 

"  What  is  it?"  enquired  his  master  languidly. 

"  Do  you  recollect  how  often  you  used  to  praise  my  draft- 
copying,  and  wondered  how  I  got  through  so  much  work?" 

"  Why,  yes,  curse  you,  yes ! "  replied  his  master  angrily ; 
"  what  have  you  brought  that  up  for  now,  eh  ?" 

"  To  tell  you,  sir,  that  I  did  not  deserve  your  praises" 

"  Well — well — no  more,"  interrupted  his  master  impatiently. 

"  But  I  must,  and  will  tell  you,  that  it  was  all  done  by  poor 

Mrs  T ,  who  learned  engrossing,  and  sat  up  whole  nights 

together,  writing,  that  you  might  not  lose  your  business,  till 
she  was  nearly  blinded,  poor,  dear  lady !  and  she  would  not 
ever  let  me  tell  you !  But  I  shall  take  leave  now  to  say,"  con- 
tinued the  young  man,  rising,  and  bursting  into  tears — "  I  shall 
make  free  to  tell  you,  that  you  have  behaved  shamefully — 
brutally  to  her,  and  have  broken  her  poor  heart — you  have — 
and  God  will  remember  and  curse  you  for  it ! " — And  he  left 
the  room,  and  never  again  entered  the  house,  the  scene  of  his 
beloved  mistress's  martyrdom. 

Mr  T — —  listened  to  all  this  without  uttering  a  word — his 
eyes  dilated— and  he  presently  burst  into  a  fit  of  loud  and 
lamentable  weeping,  which  lasted  long  after  I  left  the  house ; 
and  that  evening  he  attempted  to  commit  suicide,  like  one  before 
him,  unable  to  endure  the  heavy  smitings  of  a  guilty  conscience. 


936  DIARY  OF  A  LATE   PHYSICIAN. 

This  paper  has  excited  some  little  attention,  and  in  quarters 
where  I  devoutly  hope  it  may  be  useful.  Very  many  enquiries, 
also,  have  been  made  as  to  the  veracity  of  its  details.  I  would 
to  Heaven  that,  for  the  honour  of  humanity,  I  could  say  the 
principal  incidents  narrated  had  no  other  basis  than  fiction !  I 
solemnly  assure  you,  reader,  that  they  are  true:  I  tell  you, 
further,  that  to  the  best  of  my  belief,  the  wretched  husband  still 
lives!  More  about  him  I  cannot — dare  not  say.  There  are, 
really,  many  drafts  of  pleadings,  and  leases,  &c.,  now  extant,  in 
the  handwriting  of  the  amiable  and  unfortunate  lady  whose 
sorrows  are  recorded  above,  and  which  have  now  met  with 
sympathy,  I  trust,  from  thousands.  Another  incident,  which 
has  been  considered  improbably  atrocious  and  brutal — that  of 
pushing  down  the  poor  wife,  with  her  refreshments — is  also 
true;  and  the  Editor  further  assures  you,  reader,  that,  even 
were  this  portion  of  the  narrative  fictitious,  lie  saw  in  private 
life  a  brutal  husband  act  similarly  towards  his  wife — a  beautiful 
woman,  and  affectionate  wife ! 

Wo,  however,  to  the  man  of  quick  and  delicate  feeling,  that 
looks  closely  on  even  the  commonest  scenes  of  life !  How  much 
must  he  see  to  shock  and  wound  his  heart — to  disgust  him  with 
his  species !  But  "  the  eyes  of  the  swinish  see  not,  neither  do 
their  hearts  feel." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


GRATE  DOINGS, 


My  gentle  reader — start  not  at  learning  that  I  have  been,  in 
my  time,  a  eesurbectionist.  Let  not  this  appalling  word,  this 
humiliating  confession,  conjure  up  in  your  fancy  a  throng  of 
vampire-like  images  and  associations,  or  earn  your  "  Physician's' 
dismissal  from  your  hearts  and  hearths.  It  is  your  own  ground- 
less fears,  my  fair  trembler ! — your  own  superstitious  prejudices 
— that  have  driven  me,  and  will  drive  many  others  of  my  brethren, 


GKAVE  DOINGS. CHAPTER  XVI.  237 

to  such  dreadful  doings  as  those  hereafter  detailed.  Come,  come 
— let  us  have  one  word  of  reason  between  us  on  the  abstract 
question — and  then  for  my  tale.  You  expect  us  to  cure  you  of 
disease,  and  yet  deny  us  the  only  means  of  learning  how  !  You 
would  have  us  bring  you  the  ore  of  skill  and  experience,  yet 
forbid  us  to  break  the  soil,  or  sink  a  shaft !  Is  this  fair,  fair 
reader  ?  Is  this  reasonable  ? 

What  I  am  now  going  to  describe  was  my  first  and  last  exploit 
in  the  way  of  body-stealing.  It  was  a  grotesque  if  not  a  ludi- 
crous scene,  and  occurred  during  the  period  of  my  "  walking  the 
hospitals,"  as  it  is  called,  which  occupied  the  two  seasons  imme- 
diately after  my  leaving  Cambridge.  A  young,  and  rather 
interesting  female,  was  admitted  a  patient  at  the  hospital  I 
attended ;  her  case  baffled  all  our  skill,  and  her  symptoms  even 
defied  diagnosis.  Now,  it  seemed  an  enlargement  of  the  heart — 
now,  an  ossification — then  this,  that,  and  the  other ;  and,  at  last, 
it  was  plain  we  knew  nothing  at  all  about  the  matter — no,  not 
even  whether  her  disorder  was  organic  or  functional,  primary  or 
symptomatic — or  whether  it  was  really  the  heart  that  was  at 
fault.  She  received  no  benefit  at  all  under  the  fluctuating  schemes 
of  treatment  we  pursued,  and,  at  length,  fell  into  dying  circum- 
stances. As  soon  as  her  friends  were  apprised  of  her  situation, 
and  had  an  inkling  of  our  intention  to  open  the  body,  they 
insisted  on  removing  her  immediately  from  the  hospital,  that  she 

might  "  die  at  home."     In  vain  did  Sir and  his  dressers 

expostulate  vehemently  with  them,  and  represent,  in  exaggerated 
terms,  the  imminent  peril  attending  such  a  step.  Her  two 
brothers  avowed  their  apprehension  of  our  designs,  and  were 
inflexible  in  exercising  their  right  of  removing  their  sister.  I 
used  all  my  rhetoric  on  the  occasion,  but  in  vain ;  and,  at  last, 
said  to  the  young  men,  "  Well,  if  you  are  afraid  only  of  our 
dissecting  her,  we  can  get  hold  of  her,  if  we  are  so  disposed,  as 
easily  if  she  die  with  you  as  with  us." 

"  Well — we'll  troy  that,  measter,"  replied  the  elder,  while  his 
Herculean  fist  oscillated  somewhat  significantly  before  my  eyes. 
The  poor  girl  was  removed  accordingly  to  her  father's  house, 
which  was  at  a  certain  village,  about  five  miles  from  London, 
and  survived  her  arrival  scarcely  ten  minutes !  We  soon  con- 


238  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

trived  to  receive  intelligence  of  the  event ;  and  as  I  and  Sir 
's  two  dressers  had  taken  great  interest  in  the  case  through- 
out, and  felt  intense  curiosity  about  the  real  nature  of  the  dis- 
ease, we  met  together  and  entered  into  a  solemn  compact,  that, 
come  what  might,  we  would  have  her  body  out  of  the  ground. 
A  trusty  spy  informed  us  of  the  time,  and  exact  place  of  the 

girl's  burial ;  and  on  expressing  to  Sir our  determination 

about  the  matter,  he  patted  me  on  the  back,  saying,  "  Ah,  my 
fine  fellow ! — if  you  have  spirit  enough — dangerous,"  &c.  &c. 
Was  it  not  skilfully  said  ?  The  baronet  further  told  us,  he  felt 
himself  so  curious  about  the  matter,  that  if  fifty  pounds  would 
be  of  use  to  us  in  furthering  our  purpose,  they  were  at  our  ser- 
vice. It  needed  not  this,  nor  a  glance  at  the  eclat  with  which 
the  successful  issue  of  the  affair  would  be  attended  among  our 
fellow-students,  to  spur  our  resolves. 

The  notable  scheme  was  finally  adjusted  at  my  rooms  in  the 

Borough.     M and  E ,  Sir 's  dressers,  and  myself, 

with  an  experienced  '■'■grab  " — that  is  to  say,  a  professional  resur- 
rectionist— were  to  set  off  from  the  Borough  about  nine  o'clock 
the  next  evening — which  would  be  the  third  day  after  the  burial — 
in  a  glass  coach  provided  with  all  "  appliances  and  means  to 
boot."  During  the  day,  however,  our  friend,  the  grab,  suffered 
so  severely  from  an  overnight's  excess,  as  to  disappoint  us  of  his 
invaluable  assistance.  This  une.xpected  contretemps  nearly  put 
an  end  to  our  project ;  for  the  few  other  grabs  we  knew,  were 
absent  on  professional  tours  !  Luckily,  however,  I  bethought  me 
of  a  poor  Irish  porter — a  sort  of  "  ne'er-do-weel "  hanger-on  at 
the  hospital — whom  I  had  several  times  hired  to  go  on  errands. 
This  man  I  sent  for  to  my  rooms,  and,  in  the  presence  of  my  two 
coadjutors,  persuaded,  threatened,  and  bothered  into  acquiescence, 
promising  him  half-a-guinea  for  his  evening's  work — and  as 
much  whisky  as  he  could  drink  prudently.  As  Mr  Tip — that 
was  the  name  he  went  by — had  some  personal  acquaintance  with 
the  sick  grab,  he  succeeded  in  borrowing  his  chief  tools ;  with 
which,  in  a  sack  large  enough  to  contain  our  expected  prize,  he 
repaired  to  my  rooms  about  nine  o'clock,  while  the  coach  was 
standing  at  the  door.  Our  Jehu  had  received  a  quiet  douceur 
in  addition  to  the  hire  of  himself  and  coach.    As  soon  as  we  had 


GRAVE  1>0INGS. — CHAPTER  XVI.  239 

exhibited  sundry  doses  of  Irisli  cordial  to  our  friend  Tip — under 
the  effects  of  which  he  became  quite  "  bouncible,"  and  ranted 
about  the  feat  he  was  to  take  a  prominent  part  in — and  equipped 
ourselves  in  our  worst  clothes,  and  white  top-coats,  we  entered 
the  vehicle — four  in  number — and  drove  off.  The  weather  had 
been  exceedingly  capricious  all  the  evening — moonlight,  rain, 
thunder,  and  lightning,  fitfully  alternating.  The  only  thing  we 
were  anxious  about,  was  the  darkness,  to  shield  us  from  all  pos- 
sible observation.  I  must  own,  that,  in  analysing  the  feelings 
that  prompted  me  to  undertake  and  go  through  with  this  affair, 
the  mere  love  of  adventure  operated  quite  as  powerfully  as  the 
wish  to  benefit  the  cause  of  anatomical  science.  A  midnight 
expedition  to  the  tombs  ! — It  took  our  fancy  amazingly ;  and 

then — Sir 's  cunning  hint  about  the  "  danger" — and  our 

"  spirit !" 

The  garrulous  Tip  supplied  us  with  amusement  all  the  way 
down— rattle,  rattle,  rattle,  incessiintly  ;  but  as  soon  as  we  had 
arrived  at  that  part  of  the  road  where  we  were  to  stop,  and  caught 

sight  of church,  with  its  hoary  steeple — glistening  in  the 

fading  moonlight,  as  though  it  were  standing  sentinel  over  the 
graves  around  it,  one  of  which  we  were  going  so  rudely  to 
violate — Tip's  spirits  began  to  falter  a  little.  He  said  little — 
and  that  at  intervals.  To  be  very  candid  with  the  reader,  ncme 
of  us  felt  over  much  at  our  ease.  Our  expedition  began  to  wear 
a  somewhat  harebrained  aspect,  and  to  be  environed  with  formid- 
able contingencies  which  we  had  not  taken  sufficiently  into  our 
calculations.  What,  for  instance,  if  the  two  stout  fellows,  the 
brothers,  should  be  out  watching  their  sister's  grave  ?  They 
were  not  likely  to  stand  on  much  ceremony  with  us.     And  then 

the  manual  difficulties  !  E was  the  only  one  of  us  that  had 

ever  assisted  at  the  exhumation  of  a  body — and  the  rest  of  us 
were  likely  to  prove  but  bungling  workmen.  However,  we  had 
gone  too  far  to  think  of  retreating.  We  none  of  us  spohe  our 
suspicions,  but  the  silence  that  reigned  within  the  coach  was 
tolerably  significant.  In  contemplation,  however,  of  some  such 
contingency,  we  had  put  a  bottle  of  brandy  in  the  coach  pocket ; 
and  before  we  drew  up,  had  all  four  of  us  drunk  pretty  deeply 
of  it.     At  length,  the  coach  turned  down  a  by -lane  to  the  left. 


240  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHTSICIAN. 

which  led  directly  to  the  churchyard  wall ;  and  after  moving  a 
few  steps  down  it,  in  order  to  shelter  our  vehicle  from  the 
observation  of  highway  passengers,  the  coach  stopped,  and  the 
driver  opened  the  door. 

"  Come,  Tip,"  said  I,  "  out  with  you." 

"  Get  out,  did  you  say,  sir?  To  be  sure  I  will — Och!  to  be 
sure  I  will."  But  there  was  small  show  of  alacrity  in  his  move- 
ments as  he  descended  the  steps;  for,  while  I  was  speaking,  I 
was  interrupted  by  the  solemn  clangour  of  the  church  clock 
announcing  the  hour  of  midnight.  The  sounds  seemed  to  warn 
us  against  what  we  were  going  to  do. 

"  'Tis  a  cowld  night,  yer  honours,"  said  Tip,  in  an  under 
tone,  as  we  successively  alighted,  and  stood  together,  looking  up 
and  down  the  dark  lane,  to  see  if  any  thing  was  stirring  but 
ourselves.  "'Tis  a  cowld  night — and — and — and" — he  stam- 
mered. 

"  Why  you  cowardly  old  scoundrel,"  grumbled  M ,  "  are 

you  frightened  already  ?  What's  the  matter,  eh?  Hoist  up  the 
bag  on  your  shoulders  directly,  and  lead  the  way  down  the 
lane." 

"  Och,  but  yer  honours — och !  by  the  mother  that  bore  me, 
but  'tis  a  murtherous  cruel  thing,  I'm  thinking,  to  wake  the 
poor  cratur  from  her  last  sleep."  He  said  this  so  querulously, 
that  I  began  to  entertain  serious  apprehensions,  after  all,  of  his 
defection;  so  I  insisted  on  his  taking  a  little  more  brandy,  by 
way  of  bringing  him  up  to  par.  It  was  of  no  use,  however.  His 
reluctance  increased  every  moment — and  it  even  dispirited  vs. 
I  verily  believe  the  turning  of  a  straw  would  have  decided  us  all 
on  jumping  into  the  coach  again,  and  returning  home  without 
accomplishing  our  errand.  Too  many  of  the  students,  however, 
were  apprized  of  our  expedition,  for  us  to  think  of  terminating 
it  so  ridiculously.     As  it  were  by  mutual  consent,  we  stood  and 

paused  a  few  moments,  about  lialfway  down  the  lane.     M 

whistled  with  infinite  spirit  and  distinctness ;  E remarked 

to  me  that  he  "  always  thought  a  churchyard  at  midnight  was 
the  gloomiest  object  imaginable;"  and  I  talked  about  business 
— "  soon  be  over" — "  shallow  grave,"  &c.  &c. 

"  Confound  it — what  if  those  two  brothers  of  hers  should  be 


GEAVE  DOLNGS. CHAPTER  XVI.  241 

there?"  said  M abruptly,  making  a  dead  stop,  and  folding 

liis  arms  on  his  breast. 

"  Powerful  fellows,  both  of  them ! "  muttered  E .     We 

resumed  our  march — -when  Tip,  our  advanced  guard — a  title  he 
earned  by  anticipating  our  steps  about  three  inches — suddenly 
stood  still,  let  down  the  bag  from  his  shoulders,  elevated  both 
hands  in  a  listening  attitude,  and  exclaimed,  "Whisht!  — 
whisht! — By  my  soul,  what  was  that?"  We  all  paused  in 
silence,  looking  palely  at  one  another — but  could  hear  nothing 
except  the  drowsy  flutter  of  a  bat  wheeling  away  from  us  a  little 
overhead. 

"  Fait — an'  wasn't  it  somebody  spaMng  on  the  far  side  o'  the 
hedge,  I  heard  ?  "  whispered  Tip. 

"  Poh — stuff,   you   idiot .' "  I   exclaimed,  losing  my  temper. 

"  Come,  M and  E ,  it's  high  time  we  had  done  with  all 

this  cowardly  nonsense;  and  if  we  mean  really  to  do  any  thing, 
we  must  make  haste.  'Tis  past  twelve — day  breaks  about  four 
— and  it  is  coming  on  wet,  you  see."  Several  large  drops  of 
rain,  pattering  heavily  among  the  leaves  and  branches,  corro- 
borated my  words,  by  announcing  a  coming  shower,  and  the  air 
was  sultry  enough  to  warrant  the  expectation  of  a  thunder- 
storm. We  therefore  buttoned  up  our  great-coats  to  the  chin, 
and  hurried  on  to  the  churchyard  wall,  which  ran  across  the 
bottom  of  the  lane.  This  wall  we  had  to  climb  over  to  get  into 
the  churchyard,  and  it  was  not  a  very  high  one.  Here  Tip  an- 
noyed us  again.  I  told  him  to  lay  down  his  bag,  mount  the 
wall,  and  look  over  into  the  yard,  to  see  whether  all  was  clear 
before  us;  and,  as  far  as  the  light  would  enable  him,  to  look  about 
for  a  new-made  grave.  Very  reluctantly  he  complied,  and  con- 
trived to  scramble  to  the  top  of  the  wall.  He  had  hardly  time, 
however,  to  peer  over  into  the  churchyard,  when  a  fluttering 
streak  of  lightning  flashed  over  us,  followed,  in  a  second  or 
two,  by  a  loud  burst  of  thunder  I  Tip  fell  in  an  instant  to  the 
ground,  like  a  cockchafier  shaken  from  an  elm-tree,  and  lay 
crossing  himself,  and  muttering  Paternosters.  We  could  scarcely 
help  laughing  at  the  manner  in  which  he  tumbled  down,  simul- 
taneously with  the  flash  of  lightning.  "  Now,  look  ye,  gintle- 
men,"  said  he,  still  squatting  on  the  ground,  "  do  you  mane  to 

1  4 


242  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

give  the  poor  cratur  Christian  burial,  when  ye've  done  wid  her? 
An'  will  you  put  her  back  again  as  ye  found  her?  'Case,  if  you 
won't,  blood  an'  oons" 

"  Hark  ye  now,  Tip,"  said  I  sternly,  taking  out  one  of  a 
brace  of  empty  pistols  I  had  put  into  my  great-coat  pocket,  and 
presenting  it  to  his  head,  "  we  have  hired  you  on  this  business, 
for  the  want  of  a  better,  you  wretched  fellow !  and  if  you  give 

us  any  more  of  your  nonsense,  by I'll  send  a  bullet  through 

your  brain !  Do  you  hear  me.  Tip  ?  " 

"  Och,  aisy,  aisy  wid  ye !  don't  murther  me !  Bad-luck  to  me 
that  I  ever  cam  wid  ye !  Och,  and  if  iver  I  live  to  die,  won't  I 
see  and  bury  my  ould  body  out  o'  the  rache  of  all  the  docthers 
in  the  world  ?  If  I  don't,  divel  burn  me ! "  We  all  laughed 
aloud  at  Tip's  truly  Hibernian  expostulation. 

"  Come,  sir,  mount !  over  with  you ! "  said  we,  helping  to 
push  him  upwards.  "  Now,  drop  this  bag  on  the  other  side," 
we  continued,  giving  him  the  sack  that  contained  our  imple- 
ments. We  all  three  of  us  then  followed,  and  alighted  safely  in 
the  churchyard.  It  poured  with  rain ;  and,  to  enhance  the 
dreariness  and  horrors  of  the  time  and  place,  flashes  of  light- 
ning followed  in  quick  succession,  shedding  a  transient  awful 
glare  over  the  scene,  revealing  the  white  tombstones,  the  ivy- 
grown  venerable  church,  and  our  own  figures,  a  shivering  group, 
come  on  an  unhallowed  errand !  I  perfectly  well  recollect  the 
lively  feelings  of  apprehension — "  the  compunctious  visitings  of 
remorse" — which  the  circumstances  called  forth  in  my  own 
breast,  and  which,  I  had  no  doubt,  were  shared  by  my  com- 
panions. 

As  no  time,  however,  was  to  be  lost,  I  left  the  group,  for  an 
instant,  under  the  wall,  to  search  out  the  grave.  The  accurate 
instructions  I  had  received  enabled  me  to  pitch  on  the  spot  with 
little  difficulty;  and  I  returned  to  my  companions,  who  imme- 
diately followed  me  to  the  scene  of  operations.  We  had  no 
umbrellas,  and  our  great-coats  were  saturated  with  wet;  but 
the  brandy  we  had  recently  taken  did  us  good  service,  by  exhila- 
rating our  spirits,  and  especially  those  of  Tip.  He  untied  the 
sack  in  a  twinkling,  and  shook  out  the  hoes  and  spades,  &c. ; 
and,  taking  one  of  the  latter  himself,  he  commenced 


GRAVE  DOINGS. CHAPTER  XVI.  243 

with  such  energy,  that  we  had  hardly  prepared  ourselves  for 
work,  before  he  had  cleared  away  nearly  the  whole  of  the  mound. 
The  rain  soon  abated,  and  the  lightning  ceased  for  a  consider- 
able interval,  though  thunder  was  heard  occasionally  grumbling 
sullenly  in  the  distance,  as  if  expressing  anger  at  our  unholy 
doings — at  least  I  felt  it  so.  The  pitchy  darkness  continued,  so 
that  we  could  scarcely  see  one  another's  figures.  We  worked 
on  in  silence,  as  fast  as  our  spades  could  be  got  into  the  ground ; 
taking  it  in  turns,  two  by  two,  as  the  grave  would  not  admit  of 
more.  On — on — on  we  worked,  till  we  had  hollowed  out  about 
three  feet  of  earth.  Tip  then  hastily  joined  together  a  long  iron 
screw  or  borer,  which  he  thrust  into  the  ground,  for  the  purpose 
of  ascertaining  the  depth  at  which  the  coffin  yet  lay  from  us. 
To  our  vexation,  we  found  a  distance  of  three  feet  remained  to 
be  got  through.  "  Sure,  and  by  the  soul  of  St  Patrick,  but 
we'll  not  be  done  by  the  morning ! "  said  Tip,  as  he  threw  down 
the  instrument  and  resumed  his  spade.  We  were  all  discouraged. 
Oh,  how  earnestly  I  wished  myself  at  home,  in  my  snug  little 
bed  in  the  Borough !  How  I  cursed  the  Quixotism  that  had  led 
me  into  such  an  undertaking !  I  had  no  time,  however,  for 
reflection,  as  it  was  my  turn  to  relieve  one  of  the  diggers  ;  so 
into  the  grave  I  jumped,  and  worked  away  as  lustily  as  before. 
While  I  was  thus  engaged,  a  sudden  noise,  close  to  our  ears,  so 
startled  me,  that  I  protest  I  thought  I  should  have  dropped 
down  dead  in  the  grave  I  was  robbing.  I  and  my  fellow-digger 
let  fall  our  spades,  and  all  four  stood  still  for  a  second  or  two  in 
an  ecstasy  of  fearful  apprehension.  We  could  not  see  more 
than  a  few  inches  around  us,  but  heard  the  grass  trodden  by 
approaching  feet !  They  proved  to  be  those  of  an  ass,  that  was 
turned  at  night  into  the  churchyard,  and  had  gone  on  eating 
his  way  towards  us ;  and,  while  we  were  standing  in  mute 
expectation  of  what  was  to  come  next,  opened  on  us  with  an 
astounding  hee-haw !  hee-haw !  hee-haw !  Even  after  we  had 
discovered  the  ludicrous  nature  of  the  interruption,  we  were  too 
agitated  to  laugh.  The  brute  was  actually  close  upon  us,  and 
had  given  tongue  from  under  poor  Tip's  elbow,  having  approached 
him  from  behind,  as  he  stood  leaning  on  his  spade.  Tip  started 
suddenly  backward  against  the  animal's  head,  and  fell  down. 


244  DIARY  OF   A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

Away  sprang  the  jackass,  as  much  confounded  as  Tip,  kicking 
and  scampering  like  a  mad  creature  among  the  tombstones,  and 
hee-hawing  incessantly,  as  if  a  hundred  devils  had  got  into  it 
for  the  purpose  of  discomfiting  us.  I  felt  so  much  fury,  and  fear 
lest  the  noise  should  lead  to  our  discovery,  I  could  have  killed 
the  brute  if  it  had  been  within  my  reach,  while  Tip  stammered, 
in  an  affrightened  whisper — "  Och,  the  baste  !  Och,  the  baste ! 
The  big  black  divel  of  a  baste !  The  murtherous,  thundering" 

and  a  great  many  epithets  of  the  same  sort.  We  gradually 

recovered  from  the  agitation  which  this  provoking  interruption 
had  occasioned ;  and  Tip,  under  the  promise  of  two  bottles  of 
whisky  as  soon  as  we  arrived  safe  at  home  with  our  prize,  renewed 
his  exertions,  and  dug  with  such  energy,  that  we  soon  cleared 
away  the  remainder  of  the  superincumbent  earth,  and  stood  upon 
the  bare  lid  of  the  coffin.  The  grapplers,  with  ropes  attached  to 
them,  were  then  fixed  in  the  sides  and  extremities,  and  we  were 
in  the  act  of  raising  the  coffin,  when  the  sound  of  a  human  voice, 
accompanied  with  footsteps,  fell  on  our  startled  ears.  We  heard 
both  distinctly,  and  crouched  down  close  over  the  brink  of  the 
grave,  awaiting  in  breathless  suspense  a  corroboration  of  our 
fears.  After  a  pause  of  two  or  three  minutes,  however,  finding 
that  the  sounds  were  not  renewed,  we  began  to  breathe  freer, 
persuaded  that  our  ears  must  have  deceived  us.  Once  more  we 
resumed  our  work,  succeeded  in  hoisting  up  the  coffin — not  witli- 
out  a  slip,  however,  which  nearly  precipitated  it  down  again  to 
the  bottom,  with  all  four  of  us  upon  it — and  depositing  it  on  the 
grave-side.  Before  proceeding  to  use  our  screws,  or  wrenchers, 
we  once  more  looked  and  listened,  and  listened  and  looked ;  but 
neither  seeing  nor  hearing  any  thing,  we  set  to  work,  prized  off 
the  lid  in  a  twinkling,  and  a  transient  glimpse  of  moonlight  dis- 
closed to  us  the  shrouded  inmate — all  white  and  damp.  I  removed 

the  face-cloth,  and  unpinned  the  cap,  while  M loosed  the 

sleeves  from  the  wrists.     Thus  were  we  engaged,  when  E , 

who  had  hold  of  the  feet,  ready  to  lift  them  out,  suddenly  let 
them  go — gasped — "  Oh,  my  God  !  there  they  are  ! "  and  placed 
his  hand  on  my  arm.  He  shook  like  an  aspen  leaf.  I  looked 
towards  the  quarter  whither  his  eyes  were  directed,  and,  sure 
enougli,  saw  the  figure  of  a  man — if  not  two — moving  stealtliil/ 


GRAVE  DOINGS. CUA.PTBB  XVI.  245 

toward  us.    "  Well,  we're  discovered,  that's  clear,"  I  whispered 

as  calmly  as  I  could.    "  We  shall  be  murdered  ! "  groaned  E . 

"  Lend  me  one  of  the  pistols  you  have  with  you,"  said  M 

resolutely ;  "  by ,  I'll  have  a  shot  for  my  life,  however ! " 

As  for  poor  Tip,  who  had  heard  every  syllable  of  this  startling 
colloquy,  and  himself  seen  the  approaching  figures,  he  looked  at 
me  in  silence,  the  image  of  blank  horror!  I  could  have  laughed 
even  then,  to  see  his  staring  black  eyes — his  little  cocked  ruby- 
tinted  nose — his  chattering  teeth.     "Hush — hush!"   said  I, 

cocking  my  pistol,  while  M did  the  same;  for  none  but 

myself  knew  that  they  were  unloaded.  To  add  to  our  conster- 
nation, the  malignant  moon  withdrew  the  small  scantling  of 
light  she  had  been  doling  out  to  us,  and  sank  beneath  a  vast 
cloud,  "  black  as  Erebus,"  but  not  before  we  had  caught  a 
glimpse  of  two  more  figures  moving  towards  us  in  an  opposite 
direction.  "  Surrounded ! "  two  of  us  muttered  in  the  same 
breath.  We  all  rose  to  our  feet,  and  stood  together,  not  know- 
ing what  to  do — unable  in  the  darkness  to  see  one  another 
distinctly.  Presently  we  heard  a  voice  say,  in  a  subdued  tone, 
"  Where  are  they  ?  where  ?  Sure  I  saw  them !  Oh,  there  they 
are !  Halloa — halloa ! " 

That  was  enough — the  signal  of  our  flight.  Without  an 
instant's  pause,  or  uttering  another  syllable,  off  we  sprung,  like 
small-shot  from  a  gun's  mouth,  all  of  us  in  different  directions, 
we  knew  not  whither.  I  heard  the  report  of  a  gun — mercy  on 
me !  and  pelted  away,  scarcely  knowing  what  I  was  about, 
dodging  among  the  graves — now  coming  full-butt  against  a 
plaguy  tombstone,  then  tumbling  on  the  slippery  grass — while 
some  one  followed  close  at  my  heels  panting  and  puffing,  but 
whether  friend  or  foe,  I  knew  not.  At  length  I  stumbled  against 
a  large  tombstone ;  and  finding  it  open  at  the  two  ends,  crept 
under  it,  resolved  there  to  abide  the  issue.  At  the  moment 
of  my  ensconcing  myself,  the  sound  of  the  person's  footsteps  who 
had  followed  me  suddenly  ceased.  I  heard  a  splashing  sound, 
then  a  kicking  and  scrambling,  a  faint  stifled  cry  of  "  Ugh — oh 
ugh  ! "  and  all  was  still.  Doubtless  it  must  be  one  of  my  com- 
panions, who  had  been  wounded.  What  could  I  do,  however  ? 
I  did  not  know  in  what  direction  he  lay — the  night  was  pitch- 


246  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

dark — and  if  I  crept  from  my  hiding-place,  for  all  I  knew,  I 
might  be  shot  myself.  I  shall  never  forget  that  hour — no,  never ! 
There  was  I,  squatting  like  a  toad  on  the  wet  grass  and  weeds, 
not  daring  to  do  more  than  breathe  !  Here  was  a  predicament ! 
1  could  not  conjecture  how  the  affair  would  terminate.  Was  I 
to  lie  where  1  was  till  daylight,  that  then  I  might  step  into  the 
arms  of  my  captors  ?  What  was  become  of  my  companions  ? — 
While  turning  these  thoughts  in  my  mind,  and  wondering  that 
all  was  so  quiet,  my  ear  caught  the  sound  of  the  splashing  of 
water,  apparently  at  but  a  yard  or  two's  distance,  mingled  with 
the  sounds  of  a  half- smothered  human  voice — "  Ugh  !  ugh ! 
Och,  murther  !  murther !  murther  ! " — another  splash — "  and 
isn't  it  dead,  and  drowned,  and  kilt  I  am  " 

Whew !  Tip  in  trouble,  thought  I,  not  daring  to  speak.  Yes 
— it  was  poor  Tip,  I  afterwards  found — who  had  followed  at  my 
heels,  scampering  after  me  as  fast  as  fright  could  drive  him,  till 
his  career  was  unexpectedly  ended  by  his  tumbling — souse — 
head  over  heels,  into  a  newly-opened  grave  in  his  path,  with  more 
than  a  foot  of  water  in  it.  There  the  poor  fellow  remained,  after 
recovering  from  the  first  shock  of  his  fall,  not  daring  to  utter  a 
word  for  some  time,  lest  he  should  be  discovered — straddling 
over  the  water  with  his  toes  and  elbows  stuck  into  the  loose 
soil  on  each  side,  to  support  him.  This  was  his  interesting 
position,  as  he  subsequently  informed  me,  at  the  time  of  uttering 
the  sounds  which  first  attracted  my  attention.  Though  not 
aware  of  his  situation  at  the  time,  I  was  almost  choked  with  laugh- 
ter as  he  went  on  with  his  soliloquy,  somewhat  in  this  strain  :— 

"  Och,  Tip,  ye  ould  divel !  Don't  it  sarve  ye  right,  ye  fool  ? 
Ye  villanous  ould  coffin-robber  !  Won't  ye  burn  for  this  here- 
after, ye  sinner  ?  Ulaloo  !  When  ye  are  dead  yourself,  may  ye  be 
trated  like  that  poor  cratur — and  yourself  alive  to  see  it !  Och, 
hubbaboo !  hubbaboo !  Isn't  it  sure  that  I'll  be  drowned,  an' 
then  it's  kilt  I'll  be  ! " — A  loud  splash,  and  a  pause  for  a  few 
moments,  asif  he  were  re-adjusting  his  footing — "  Och  !  an' I'm 
catching  my  dith  of  cowld  !  Fait,  an'  it's  a  divel  a  drop  o'  the 
two  bottles  o'  whisky  I'll  iver  see — Och,  och,  och  ! " — another 
splash — "  och,  an'  isn't  this  uncomfortable !  Murther  and  oons ! 
— if  ever  I  come  out  of  this — sha'n't  I  be  dead  before  I  do  ?" 


GRAVE  DOINGS. — CHAPTER  XVI.  247 

"  Tip — Tip — Tip ! "  I  whispered  in  a  low  tone.  There  was 
a  dead  silence.  "  Tip,  Tip,  where  are  you  ?  What's  the  matter, 
eh  ?  " — No  answer ;  but  he  muttered  in  a  low  tone  to  himself — 
"  Where  am  I!  by  my  soul!  Isn't  it  dead,  and  kilt,  and 
drowned,  and  murthered  I  am — that's  all !" 

"  Tip — Tip — Tip  ! "  I  repeated,  a  little  louder. 

"  Tip,  indeed !  Fait,  ye  may  call,  bad-luck  to  ye — whoever  ye 
are — but  it's  divel  a  word  I'll  be  after  spaking  to  ye." 

"  Tip,  you  simpleton  !  It's  I — Mr ." 

In  an  instant  there  was  a  sound  of  jumping  and  splashing,  as 
if  surprise  had  made  him  slip  from  his  standing  again,  and  he 

called  out,  "  Whoo !  whoo !  an'  is't  you,  sweet  Mr !   What 

is  the  matter  wid  ye  ?  Are  ye  kilt  ?  Where  are  they  all  ? 
Have  they  taken  ye  away,  every  mother's  son  of  you?"  he 
asked  eagerly,  in  a  breath. 

"  Why,  what  are  i/ou  doing,  Tip  ?     Where  are  i/ou  f  " 

"  Fait,  an'  it's  being  washed  I  am,  in  the  feet,  and  in  the 
queerest  tub  your  honour  ever  saw  ! "  A  noise  of  scuffling,  not 
many  yards  off,   silenced  us  both  in  an  instant.     Presently  I 

distinguished  the  voice  of  E ,  calling  out — "  Help,  M ! " 

(my  name) — "  Where  are  you  ? "  The  noise  increased,  and 
seemed  nearer  than  before.  I  crept  from  my  lurking-place,  and 
aided  at  Tip's  resurrection,  when  both  of  us  hurried  towards 
the  spot  whence  the  sound  came.  By  the  faint  moonlight,  I 
could  just  see  the  outlines  of  two  figures  violently  struggling 
and  grappling  together.  Before  I  could  come  up  to  them,  both 
fell  down,  locked  in  each  other's  arms,  rolling  over  each  other, 
grasping  one  another's  collars,  gasping  and  panting  as  if  in 
mortal  struggle.     The  moon  suddenly  emerged,  and  who  do 

you  think,  reader,  was  E 's  antagonist?     Why,  the  person 

whose  appearance  had  so  discomfited  and  affrighted  us  all — cub 
COACHMAN.  That  worthy  individual,  alarmed  at  our  protracted 
stay,  had,  contrary  to  our  injunctions,  left  his  coach  to  come 
and  search  after  us.  He  it  was  whom  we  had  seen  stealing 
towards  us ;  his  steps — his  voice  had  alarmed  us,  for  he  could 
not  see  us  distinctly  enough  to  discover  whether  we  were  his 
fare  or  not.  He  was  on  the  point  of  whispering  my  name,  it 
seems — when  we  must  all  have  understood  one  another — when 


248  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

lo !  we  all  started  oflF  in  the  manner  which  has  been  described ; 
and  he  himself,  not  knowing  that  he  was  the  reason  of  it,  had 
taken  to  his  heels,  and  fled  for  his  life !  He  supposed  we  had 
fallen  into  a  sort  of  ambuscade.     He  happened  to  hide  himself 

behind  the  tombstone  next  but  one  to  that  which  sheltered  E . 

Finding  all  quiet,  he  and  E ,  as  if  by  mutual  consent,  were 

groping  from  their  hiding-places,  when  they  unexpectedly  fell 
foul  of  one  another — each  too  affrighted  to  speak — and  hence 
the  scuffle. 

After  this  satisfactory  denouement,  we  all  repaired  to  the 
grave's  mouth,  and  found  the  corpse  and  coffin  precisely  as  we 
Jmd  left  them.  We  were  not  many  moments  in  taking  out  the 
body,  stripping  it,  and  thrusting  it  into  the  sack  we  had  brought. 
We  then  tied  the  top  of  the  sack,  carefully  deposited  the  shroud, 
&c.,  in  the  coffin,  re-screwed  down  the  lid — fearful,  impious 
mockery!- — and  consigned  it  once  more  to  its  resting-place, 
Tip  scattering  a  handful  of  earth  on  the  lid,  and  exclaiming 
reverently — "An'  may  the  Lord  forgive  us  for  what  we  have 
done  to  ye ! "     The  coachman  and  I  then  took  the  body  between 

us  to  the  coach,  leaving  M ,  and  E ,  and  Tip,  to  fill  up 

the  grave. 

Our  troubles  were  not  yet  ended,  however.  Truly  it  seemed 
as  though  Providence  were  throwing  every  obstacle  in  our  way. 
Nothing  went  right.  On  reaching  the  spot  where  we  had  left 
the  coach,  behold  it  lay  several  yards  farther  in  the  lane,  tilted 
into  the  ditch — for  the  horses,  being  hungry,  and  left  to  them- 
selves, in  their  anxiety  to  graze  on  the  verdant  bank  of  the 
hedge,  had  contrived  to  overturn  the  vehicle  in  the  ditch — and 
one  of  the  horses  was  kicking  vigorously  when  we  came  up— 
the  whole  body  off  the  ground — and  resting  on  that  of  his  com- 
panion. We  had  considerable  difficulty  in  righting  the  coach, 
as  the  horses  were  inclined  to  be  obstreperous.  We  succeeded, 
however — deposited  our  unholy  spoil  within,  turned  the  horses' 
heads  towards  the  high-road,  and  then,  after  enjoining  Jehu  to 
keep  his  place  on  the  box,  I  went  to  see  how  my  companions  were 
getting  on.  They  had  nearly  completed  their  task,  and  told  me 
that  "  shovelling  in  was  surprisingly  easier  than  shovelling  out! 
We  took  great  pains  to  leave  every  thing  as  neat,  and  as  nearly 


TUE  SPECTRE-SMITTEN. CHAPTER  XVII.  249 

resembling  what  we  found  it,  as  possible,  in  order  that  our  visit 
might  not  be  suspected.  We  thea  carried  away  each  our  own 
tools,  and  hurried  as  fast  as  possible  to  our  coach,  for  the  dim 
twilight  had  already  stolen  a  march  upon  us,  devoutly  thankful 
that,  after  so  many  interruptions,  we  had  succeeded  in  effecting 
our  object. 

It  was  broad  daylight  before  we  reached  town,  and  a  wretched 
coach  company  we  looked,  all  wearied  and  dirty — Tip  especially, 
who  nevertheless  snored  in  the  corner  as  comfortably  as  if  he 
had  been  warm  in  his  bed.  I  heartily  resolved  with  him,  on 
leaving  the  coach,  that  it  should  be  "  the  devil's  own  dear  self 
only  that  should  timpt  me  out  agin  hody-siiatchirig  !"* 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


THE  SPECTRE-SMITTEN. 


Few  topics  of  medical  literature  have  occasioned  more  wide  and 
contradictory  speculation  than  that  of  insanity,  with  reference, 
as  well  to  its  predisposing  and  immediate  causes,  as  its  best 
method  of  treatment.  Since  experience  is  the  only  substratum 
of  real  knowledge,  the  easiest  and  surest  way  of  arriving  at  those 
general  principles  which  may  regulate  both  our  pathological 
and  therapeutical  researches,  especially  concerning  the  subtle, 
almost  inscrutable  disorder,  mania ;  is,  when  one  does  meet  with 
some  striking,  well  marked  case,  to  watch  it  closely  throughout, 
and  be  particularly  anxious  to  seize  on  all  those  smaller  features 
— ^those  more  transient  indications,  which  are  truer  characteris- 
tics of  the  complaint  than  perhaps  any  other.  With  this  object, 
did  I  pay  close  attention  to  the  very  singular  and  affecting  case 

*  On  examining  the  body,  we  found  tliat  Sir  's  suspicions  were  fully 

verified.  It  was  disease  of  the  heart,  but  of  too  complicated  a  nature  to  be 
made  intelligible  to  general  readers.  I  never  beard  that  the  girl's  friends  dis- 
covered our  doings ;  and,  for  all  they  know,  she  is  now  mouldering  away  in 

churchyard ;  whereas,  in  point  of  fact,  her  bleached  skeleton  adorns '* 

surgery;  and  a  preparation  of  her  heart  enriches 's  museum  I 


250  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

detailed  in  the  following  narrative.  I  have  not  given  the  wkole 
of  my  observations,  far  from  it ;  those  only  are  recorded  whicli 
seemed  to  me  to  have  some  claims  to  the  consideration  of  both 
medical  and  general  readers. — The  apparent  eccentricity  of  the 
title  will  be  found  accounted  for  in  the  course  of  the  narrative. 

Mr  M ,  as  one  of  a  very  large  party,  had  been  enjoying 

the  splendid  hospitality  of  Lady ,  and  did  not  leave  till  a 

late,  or  rather  early  hour  in  the  morning.  Pretty  women,  music, 
and  champagne,  had  almost  turned  his  head ;  and  it  was  rather 
fortunate  for  him  that  a  hackney-coach  stand  was  within  a  stone's 
throw  of  the  house  he  was  leaving.  Muffling  his  cloak  closely 
around  him,  he  contrived  to  move  towards  it  in  a  tolerably  direct 
line,  and  a  few  moments'  time  beheld  him  driving,  at  the  usual 
snail's  pace  of  those  rickety  vehicles,  to  Lincoln's  Inn  ;  for  Mr 
M was  a  law  student.  In  spite  of  the  transient  exhilara- 
tion produced  by  the  scenes  he  had  just  quitted,  and  the  excite- 
ment consequent  on  the  prominent  share  he  took  in  an  animated, 
though  accidental  discussion,  in  the  presence  of  about  thirty  of 
the  most  elegant  women  that  could  well  be  brought  together,  he 
found  himself  becoming  the  subject  of  a  most  unaccountable 

depression  of  spirits.     Even  while  at  Lady 's,  he  had  latterly 

perceived  himself  talking  often  for  mere  talking's  sake,  the  chain 
of  his  thoughts  perpetually  broken,  and  an  impatience  and  irri- 
tability of  manner  towards  those  whom  be  addressed,  which  he 
readily  resolved,  however,  into  the  reaction  following  high  ex- 
citement.    M ,  I  ought  before,  perhaps,  to  have  mentioned, 

was  a  man  of  great  talent,  chiefly,  however,  imaginative ;  and 
had  that  evening  been  particularly  brilliant  on  his  favourite 
topic,  diablerie  and  mysticism ;  towards  which  he  generally  con- 
trived to  incline  every  conversation  in  which  he  bore  a  part  He 
had  been  dilating,  in  particular,  on  the  power  possessed  by  Mr 
Maturin  of  exciting  the  most  fearful  and  horrific  ideas  in  the 
minds  of  his  readers,  instancing  a  particular  passage  of  one  of 
his  romances,  the  title  of  which  I  have  forgotten,  where  the 
fiend  suddenly  presents  himself  to  his  appalled  victim,  amidst 
the  silence  and  gloom  of  his  prison-cell.  Long  before  he  had 
reached  home,  the  fumes  of  wine  had  evaporated,  and  the  influ- 
ence of  excitement  subsided ;  and,  with  reference  to  intoxication, 


THE  SPECTRE-SMITTEK. CHAPTER  XVII.  251 

he  was  as  sober  and  calm  as  ever  he  was  in  his  life.  Why  he 
knew  not,  but  his  heart  seemed  to  grow  heavier  and'heavier,  and 
his  thoughts  gloomier,  every  step  by  which  he  neared  Lincoln's 
Inn.  It  struck  three  o'clock  as  he  entered  the  sombrous  portals 
of  the  ancient  inn  of  court.  The  perfect  silence — the  moonlight 
shining  sadly  on  the  dusky  buildings — the  cold  quivering  stars, 
all  these  together,  combined  to  enhance  his  nervousness.  He 
described  it  to  me  as  though  things  seemed  to  wear  a  strange, 
spectral,  supernatural  aspect.  Not  a  watchman  of  the  inn  was 
heard  crying  the  hour,  not  a  porter  moving,  no  living  being  but 
himself  visible  in  the  large  square  he  was  crossing.  As  he 
neared  his  staircase,  he  perceived  his  heart  fluttering;  in  short, 
he  felt  under  some  strange  unaccountable  influence,  whicli,  had 
he  reflected  a  little,  he  would  have  discovered  to  arise  merely 
from  an  excitable  nervous  temperament,  operating  on  an  imagi- 
nation peculiarly  attuned  to  sympathies  with  terror.  His  cham- 
bers lay  on  the  third  floor  of  the  staircase ;  and,  on  reaching  it, 
he  found  his  door-lamp  glimmering  with  its  last  expiring  ray. 
He  opened  his  door,  and  after  groping  some  time  in  the  dark  of 
his  sitting-room,  found  his  chamber  candlestick.  In  attempting 
to  light  his  candle,  he  put  out  the  lamp.  He  went  down  stairs, 
but  found  that  the  lamp  of  every  landing  had  shared  the  fate  of 
his  own  ;  so  he  returned,  rather  irritated,  thinking  to  amerce 
the  porter  of  his  customary  Christmas-box,  for  his  niggard  sup- 
ply of  oil.  After  some  time  spent  in  the  search,  he  discovered 
his  tinder-box,  and  proceeded  to  strike  a  light.  This  was  not 
the  work  of  a  moment.  And  where  is  the  bachelor  to  whom  '«• 
is  ?     The  potent  spark,  however,  dropped  at  last  into  the  very 

centre  of  the  soft  tinder.     M blew^ — it  caught — spread  ;  the 

match  quickly  kindled,  and  he  lighted  his  candle.  He  took  it  in 
his  hand,  and  was  making  for  bed,  when  his  eyes  caught  a 
glimpse  of  an  object  which  brought  him  senseless  to  the  floor. 
The  furniture  of  his  room  was  disposed  as  when  he  had  left  it ; 
for  his  laundress  had  neglected  to  come  and  put  things  in  order : 
the  table  with  a  few  books  on  it  was  drawn  towards  the  fire- 
place, and  by  its  side  stood  the  ample-cushioned  easy-chair. 
The  first  object  visible,  with  sudden  distinctness,  was  a  figure 
sitting  in  the  arm-chair.     It  was  that  of  a  gentleman  dressed  in 


252  DIART  or  A  lATE  PHYSICIAN. 

dark-coloured  clothes,  his  hands,  white  as  alabaster,  closed  to- 
gether over  his  lap,  and  the  face  looking  away ;  but  it  turned 

slowly  towards  M ,  revealing  to  him  a  countenance  of  a 

ghastly  hue — the  features  glowing  like  steel  heated  to  a  white 
heat,  and  the  two  eyes  turned  full  towards  him,  and  blazing — 
absolutely  blazing,  he  described  it — with  a  most  horrible  lustre. 

The  appalling  spectre,  while  M 's  eyes  were  riveted  upon 

it,  though  glazing  fast  with  fright,  slowly  rose  from  its  seat, 
stretched  out  both  its  arms,  and  seemed  approaching  him,  when 
he  fell  down  senseless  on  the  floor,  as  if  smitten  with  apoplexy. 
He  recollected  nothing  more,  till  he  found  himself,  about  the 
middle  of  the  next  day,  in  bed,  his  laundress,  myself  and  apothe- 
cary, and  several  others,  standing  rouiid  him.  His  situation  was 
not  discovered  till  more  than  an  hour  after  he  had  fallen,  as 
nearly  as  could  be  subsequently  ascertained,  nor  would  it  then 
but  for  a  truly  fortunate  accident.  He  had  neglected  to  close 
either  of  his  outer-doors,  (I  believe  it  is  usual  for  chambers  in  the 
inns  of  court  to  have  double  outer-doors,)  and  an  old  woman, 
who  happened  to  be  leaving  the  adjoining  set  about  five  o'clock, 

on  seeing  Mr  M 's  doors  both  open  at  such  an  untimely  hour, 

was  induced,  by  feelings  of  curiosity  and  alarm,  to  return  to 
the  rooms  she  had  left  for  a  light,  with  which  she  entered  his 
chambers,  after  having  repeatedly  called  his  name  without 
receiving  any  answer.  What  will  it  be  supposed  had  been  her 
occupation  at  such  an  early  hour  in  the  adjoining  chambers  ? — 

Laying  out  the  corpse  of  their  occupant,  a  Mr  T ,  who  had 

expired  about  eight  o'clock  the  preceding  evening! 

Mr  M had  known  him,  though  not  very  intimately:  and 

there  were  some  painful  circumstances  attending  his  death, 
which,  even  though  on  no  other  grounds  than  mere  sympathy, 

M had  laid  much  to  heart.    In  addition  to  this,  he  had  been 

observed  by  his  friends  as  being  latterly  the  subject  of  very  high 
excitement,  owing  to  the  successful  prosecution  of  an  affair  of 
great  interest  and  importance.*  We  all  accounted  for  his  pre- 
sent situation,  by  referring  it  to  some  apoplectic  seizure  ;  for  we 
were,  of  course,  ignorant  of  the  real  occasion,  fright,  which  I 
did  not  learn  till  long  afterwards.     The  laundress  told  me,  that 

•  An  extenrive  literary  undertaking. 


THE  SPJSCTBE-SMITTEN. CHAPTER  XVII.  253 

she  found  Mr  M ,  to  her  great  terror,  stretched  motionless 

along  the  floor,  in  his  cloak  and  full  dress,  and  with  a  candle- 
stick lying  beside  him.  She,  at  first,  supposed  him  intoxicated ; 
but,  on  finding  all  her  efforts  to  rouse  him  unsuccessful,  and 
seeing  his  fixed  features  and  rigid  frame,  she  hastily  summoned 
to  her  assistance  a  fellow-laundress,  whom  she  had  left  in  charge 
of  the  corpse  next  door,  undressed  him,  and  laid  him  on  the  bed. 
A  neighbouring  medical  man  was  then  called  in,  who  pronounced 
it  to  be  a  case  of  epilepsy ;  and  he  was  sufficiently  warranted  by 
the  appearance  of  a  little  froth  about  the  lips,  prolonged  stupor, 
resembling  sleep,  and  frequent  convulsions  of  the  most  violent 
kind.  The  remedies  resorted  to  produced  no  alleviation  of  the 
symptoms  ;  and  matters  continued  to  wear  such  a  threatening 
and  alarming  aspect,  that  I  was  summoned  in  by  his  brother, 
and  was  at  his  bedside  by  two  o'clock.  His  countenance  was 
dark,  and  highly  intellectual :  its  lineaments  were,  naturally, 
full  of  power  and  energy ;  but  now,  overclouded  with  an  expres- 
sion of  trouble  and  horror.  He  was  seized  with  a  dreadful  fit 
soon  after  I  had  entered  the  room.  Oh  !  it  is  a  piteous  and 
shocking  spectacle  to  see  the  human  frame  subjected  to  such 
demoniacal  twitchings  and  contortions,  which  are  so  sudden,  so 
irresistible,  as  to  suggest  the  idea  of  some  vague,  terrible,  excit- 
ing cause,  which  cannot  be  discovered  :  as  though  the  sufferer 
lay  passive  in  the  grasp  of  some  messenger  of  darkness  "  sent  to 
buffet  him."  * 

M was  a  very  powerful  man  ;  and,  during  the  fits,  it  was 

next  to  impossible  for  all  present,  united,  to  control  his  move- 
ments. The  foam  at  his  mouth  suggested  to  his  terrified  brother 
the  harrowing  suspicion  that  the  ease  was  one  of  hydrophobia. 
None  of  my  remonstrances  or  assurances  to  the  contrary  sufficed 

•  The  popular  etymolo^  of  the  word  epilepsy,  sanctioned  by  several  reputable 
class-books  of  the  profession,  which  are  now  lying  before  me— i.  e.  S7riy^El\l/ig 
is  erroneous,  and  more — nonsensical.  For  the  information  of  general  readers, 
I  may  state,  that  its  true  derivation  is  from  "hafi^aya,  through  its  Ionic  obso- 
lete form,  'h^fia:  whence  IxiAHi^/J — a  seizing,  a  holding  fast.  Therefore 
we  speak  of  an  attack  of  epilepsy.  This  etymology  is  highly  descriptive  of  the 
disease  in  question ;  for  the  sudden  prostration,  rigidity,  contortions,  &c.,  of  the 
patient,  strongly  suggest  the  idea  that  he  has  been  taken  or  seized  (^i'TTi'kyiCp^stg) 
by,  as  it  were,  some  external  invisible  agent.  It  is  worthy  of  notice,  by  the 
w.iy,  that  iTTiXnTTlx-o;  is  used  by  ecclesiastical  writers  to  denote  a  person  poi- 


254  DIARY  or  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

to  quiet  him,  and  his  distress  added  to  the  confusion  of  the  scene. 
After  prescribing  to  the  best  of  my  ability,  I  left,  considering 
the  case  to  be  one  of  simple  epilepsy.  During  the  rest  of  the 
day  and  night,  the  fits  abated  both  in  violence  and  frequency ; 
but  he  was  left  in  a  state  of  the  utmost  exhaustion,  from  which, 
however,  he  seemed  to  be  rapidly  recovering  during  the  space 
of  the  four  succeeding  days  ;  when  I  was  suddenly  summoned 
to  his  bedside,  which  I  had  left  only  two  hours  before,  with  the 
intelligence  that  he  had  disclosed  symptoms  of  more  alarming 
illness  than  ever.  I  hurried  to  his  chambers,  and  found  that 
the  danger  had  not  been  magnified.  One  of  his  friends  met  me 
on  the  staircase,  and  told  me  that,  about  half  an  hour  before, 
while  he  and  Mr  C M ,  the  patient's  brother,  were  sit- 
ting beside  him,  he  suddenly  turned  to  the  latter,  and  enquired, 

in  a  tone  full  of  apprehension  and  terror,    "  Is  Mr  T- 

dead  ?  " 

"  Oh,  dear !  yes  ;  he  died  several  days  ago,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Then  it  was  he,"  he  gasped,  "  it  was  he  whom  I  saw,  and 
he  is  surely  damned !  Yes,  merciful  Maker !  he  is,  he  is ! "  he 
continued,  elevating  his  voice  to  a  perfect  roar ;  "  and  the  flames 
have  reduced  his  face  to  ashes  !  Horror  !  horror !  horror ! " 
He  then  shut  his  eyes,  and  relapsed  into  silence  for  about  ten 
minutes,  when  he  exclaimed,  "  Hark  you,  there — secure  me ! 
tie  me !  make  me  fast,  or  I  shall  burst  upon  you  and  destroy 
you  all,  for  I  am  going  mad — I  feel  it ! "  He  ceased,  and  com- 
menced breathing  fast  and  heavily,  his  chest  heaving  as  if  under 
the  pressure  of  enormous  weight,  and  his  swelling,  quivering  fea- 
tures evidencing  the  dreadful  uproar  within.  Presently  he  began 
to  grind  his  teeth,  and  his  expanding  eyes  glared  about  him  in  all 
directions,  as  though  following  the  motions  of  some  frightful 

teited  hy  a  demon.—  'E'!r!Xsi\pi;,  signifies  simply  "  failure,  deficiency."  I  shsJl 
conclude  this  note  with  a  practical  illustration  of  the  necessity  which  calls  it 
forth— the  correction  of  a  prevalent  error.  A  fiippant  student,  who,  I  was 
given  to  understand,  plumed  himself  much  among  his  companions  on  bis  Greek, 
was  suddenly  asked  hy  one  of  his  examiners  for  a  definition  of  epilepsy,  grounded 
on  its  etymology.  I  forget  the  definition,  which  was  given  with  infinite  self- 
sufficiency  of  tone  and  manner ;  but  the  fine  touch  of  scholarship  with  which  it 
was  finished  off',  I  well  recollect :— "  From  iTTiXilipi; — (£X/-Ai/W4) — I  fail> 
am  wanting;)  therefore,  sir,  epilepsy  is  a  failure  of  animal  functions l"—'^^'^ 
same  sage  definition  is  regularly  given  by  a  well-known  metropolitan  lecturer ' 


THE  SPECTRE-SMITTEN. CHAPTER  XVII.  255 

object,  and  he  muttered  fiercely  through  his  closed  teeth,  ''  Oli ! 
save  me  from  him— save  me — save  me !  " 

It  was  a  fearful  thing  to  see  him  lying  in  such  a  state,  grind- 
ing his  teeth  as  if  he  would  crush  them  to  powder — his  livid  lips 
crested  with  foam — his  features  swollen,  writhing,  blackening ; 
and,  which  gave  his  face  a  peculiarly  horrible  and  fiendish  ex- 
pression, his  eyes  distorted,  or  inverted  upwards,  so  that  nothing 
but  the  glaring  whites  of  them  could  be  seen — his  whole  frame 
rigid — and  his  hands  clenched,  as  though  they  would  never  open 
again !  It  is  a  dreadful  tax  on  one's  nerves  to  have  to  encoun- 
ter such  objects,  familiar  though  medical  men  are  with  such  and 
similar  spectacles ;  and,  in  the  present  instance,  every  one  round 
the  bedside  of  the  unfortunate  patient,  stood  trembling  with  pale 
and  momentarily  averted  faces.  The  ghastly,  fixed,  upturning 
of  the  eyes  in  epileptic  patients,  fills  me  with  horror  whenever  I 
recall  their  image  to  my  mind ! 

The  return  of  these  epileptic  fits,  in  such  violence,  and  after 
such  an  interval,  alarmed  me  with  apprehensions,  lest,  as  is  not 
unfrequently  the  case,  apoplexy  should  supervene,  or  even  ulti- 
mate insanity.     It  was  rather  singular  that  M was  never 

known  to  have  had  an  epileptic  fit,  previous  to  the  present 
seizure,  and  he  was  then  in  his  twenty-fifth  year.  I  was  con- 
jecturing what  sudden  fright  or  blow,  or  accident  of  any  kind, 
or  congestion  of  the  vessels  of  the  brain,  from  frequent  inebria- 
tion, could  have  brought  on  the  present  fit,  when  my  patient, 
whose  features  had  gradually  sunk  again  into  their  natural  dis- 
position, gave  a  sigh  of  exhaustion — the  perspiration  burst  forth, 
and  he  murmured — some  time  before  we  could  distinctly  catch 
the  words — "  Oh  !  spectre-smitten  !  spectre- smitten  !" — (which 
expression  I  have  adopted  as  the  title  of  this  paper) — "  I  shall 
never  recover  again ! "  Though  sufficiently  surprised,  and  per- 
plexed about  the  import  of  the  words,  we  took  no  notice  of  them ; 
but  endeavoured  to  divert  his  thoughts  from  the  fantasy,  if  such 
there  were,  which  seemed  to  possess  them,  by  enquiring  into  the 
nature  of  his  symptoms.  He  disregarded  us,  however;  feebly 
grasped  my  hand  in  his  clammy  fingers,  and,  looking  at  me  lan- 
guidly, muttered — "What — oh,  what  brought  the  Jiend  into  my 
chambers  ? " — and  I  felt  his  whole  frame  pervaded   by  a  cold 


256  DTART  OP  A  LATE  PHTSICIAW. 

shiver— "  Poor  T !  Horrid  fate!"  On  hearing  him  mention 

T 's  name,  we  all  looked  simultaneously  at  one  another,  hut 

without  speaking ;  for  a  suspicion  crossed  our  minds,  that  his 
highly  wrought  feelings,  acting  on  a  strong  imagination,  always 
tainted  with  superstitious  terrors,  had  conjured  up  some  hideous 
object,  which  had  scared  him  nearly  to  madness — probably  some 
fancied  apparition  of  his  deceased  neighbour.  He  began  again 
to  utter  long  deep-drawn  groans,  that  gradually  gave  place  to 
the  heavy  stertorous  breathing,  which,  with  other  symptoms — 
his  pulse,  for  instance,  beating  about  115  a-minute — confirmed 
me  in  the  opinion  that  he  was  suffering  from  a  very  severe  con- 
gestion of  the  vessels  of  the  brain.  I  directed  copious  venesec- 
tion *■ — his  head  to  be  shaven,  and  covered  perpetually  with 
cloths  soaked  in  evaporating  lotions — blisters  behind  his  ears 
and  at  the  nape  of  the  neck — and  appropriate  internal  medicines. 
I  then  left  him,  apprehending  the  worst  consequences  :  for  I  had 
once  before  a  similar  case  under  my  care — one  in  which  a  young 

lady  was,  which  I  strongly  suspected  to  be  the  case  with  M , 

absolutely  frightened  to  death,  and  went  through  nearly  the  same 
round  of  symptoms  as  those  which  were  beginning  to  make  their 
appearance  in  my  present  patient — a  sudden  epileptic  seizure, 
terminating  in  outrageous  madness,  which  destroyed  both  the 
physical  and  intellectual  energies  ;  and  the  young  lady  expired. 
I  may  possibly  hereafter  prepare  for  publication  some  of  my 
notes  of  her  case,  which  had  some  very  remarkable  features.f 

*  For  using  this  word,  and  one  aboTe,  "  stertorous,"  a  weekly  work  accuses  the 
writer  of  Phdantry  ! 

t  Through  want  of  time  and  room,  I  am  compelled  to  condense  my  memo- 
randa of  the  case  alluded  to  into  a  note.    The  circumstances  occurred  in  the 

year  1813.     The  Hon.  Miss was  a  young  woman  ahout  eighteen  or  twenty 

years  of  age ;  and  being  of  a  highly  fanciful  turn,  betook  herself  to  congenial 
literature,  in  the  shape  of  novels  and  romances,  especially  those  which  dealt 
with  "  unearthlies."  They  pushed  out  of  her  head  all  ideas  of  real  life;  for 
morning,  noon,  and  night,  beheld  her  bent  over  the  pages  of  some  absorbing 
taJe  or  other,  to  the  exclusion  of  all  other  kinds  of  reading.  The  natural  con- 
sequence  of  all  this  was,  that  she  became  one  of  the  most  fanciful  and  timorous 
creatures  breathing.  She  had  worked  herself  up  to  such  a  morbid  pitch  of 
sensitiveness  and  apprehension,  that  she  dared  hardly  be  alone  even  during  the 
day;  and  as  for  night-time,  she  had  a  couple  of  candles  always  burning  in  her 
bedroom,  and  her  maid  sleeping  with  her  on  a  side-bed. 

One  mght,  about  twelve  o'clock,  Miss and  her  maid  retired  to  bed,  the 


THE  SPECTRE-SMITTEN. —  CHAPTER  XVII.  257 

The  next  morning,  about  eleven,  saw  me  again  at  Mr  M ^"s 

chambers,  where  I  found  three  or  four  members  of  his  family — 
two  of  them  his  married  sisters — seated  round  his  sitting-room 

fire,  in  melancholy  silence.     Mr ,  the  apothecary,  had  just 

left,  but  was  expected  to  return  every  moment  to  meet  me  in 
consultation.  My  patient  lay  alone  in  his  bedroom  asleep,  and 
apparently  better  than  he  had  been  since  his  first  seizure.  He 
had  experienced  only  one  slight  fit  during  the  night ;  and  though 
he  had  been  a  little  delirious  in  the  earlier  part  of  the  evening, 
he  had  been,  on  the  whole,  so  calm  and  quiet,  that  his  friends' 
apprehensions  of  insanity  were  beginning  to  subside;  so  he  was 
left,  as  I  said,  alone ;  for  the  nurse,  just  before  my  arrival,  had 
left  her  seat  by  his  bedside  for  a  few  moments,  thinking  him  "in 
a  comfortable  and  easy  nap,"  and  was  engaged,  in  a  low  whis- 
per, conversing  with  the  members  of  M 's  family,  who  were 

in  the  sitting-room.     Hearing  such  a  report  of  my  patient,  I 

former  absorbed  and  lost  in  the  scenes  of  a  petrifying  romance  she  had  finished 
reading  only  an  liour  hefore.  Her  maid  liad  occasion  to  go  down  stairs  again 
for  the  purpose  of  fetcliing  up  some  curling-papers;  and  she  had  scarcely 
reached  the  lower  landing  on  her  return,  before  she  heard  a  faint  scream  pro- 
ceed from  her  young  mistress's  chamber.      On  hurrying  back,  the  servant 

beheld  Miss stretched  senseless  on  the  floor,  with  both  hands  pressed  upon 

her  eyes.      She  instantly  roused  the  whole  family;  but    their  efforts  were 

unavailing.    Miss was  in  a  fit  of  epilepsy,  and  medical  assistance  was  called 

in.    I  was  one  of  the  first  that  was  summoned.     For  two  days  she  lay  in  a  state 

closely  resembling  that  of  Mr  M in  the  text;  but  in  about  a  week's  time 

she  recovered  consciousness,  and  was  able  to  converse  calmly  and  connectedly. 
She  told  me  that  she  had  "been  frightened  into  the  fit :  that  a  few  moments  after 
the  maid  had  left  her,  on  the  night  alluded  to,  she  sat  down  before  her  dressing- 
glass,  which  had  two  candles,  in  branches  from  each  side  of  it.  She  was  hardly 
seated,  before  a  "  strange  sensation  seized  her,"  to  use  her  own  words.  She 
felt  cold*ind  nervous.  The  bedroom  was  both  spacious  and  gloomy,  and  she 
did  not  relish  the  idea  of  being  left  alone  in  it.  She  rose  and  went  towards  the 
bed  for  her  nightcap;  and  on  pushing  asi<le  the  heavy  damask  curtains,  she 
heard  a  rustling  noise  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  bed,  as  if  some  onehad  hastily 
leaped  off.  She  trembled,  and  her  heart  beat  hard.  She  resumed  her  seat, 
however,  with  returning  self- possession,  on  hearing  the  approaching  footsteps 
of  her  maid.  On  suddenly  directing  her  eyes  towards  the  glass,  they  met  the 
dim  outline  of  a  figure  standing  close  behind  her  with  frightful  features,  and  a 
pendant  plume  of  a  faint  fiery  hue  !  The  rest  has  been  told.  Her  mind,  how- 
ever, long  weakened,  and  her  physical  energies  disordered,  had  received  too 

severe  a  shock  to  recover  fi-om  it  quickly.    A  day  or  two  after  Miss had 

told  me  the  above,  she  suffered  a  sudden  and  most  unexpected  relapse.  Oh, 
that  merciless  and  fiendish  epilepsy  ! — how  it  tossed  about  those  tender  limbs  I 


258  DIARY  or  A  lATE  PHYSICIAN. 

sat  down  quietly  among  his  relatives,  determining  not  to  disturb 
him,  at  least  till  the  arrival  of  the  apothecary.  Thus  vrere  -we 
engaged,  questioning  the  nurse  in  an  under  tone,  when  a  loud 
laugh  from  the  bedroom  suddenly  silenced  our  whisperings,  and 
turned  us  all  pale.  We  started  to  our  feet  with  blank  amaze- 
ment in  each  countenance,  scarcely  crediting  the  evidence  of 

our  senses.     Could  it  be  M ?     It  must,  there  was  none  else 

in  the  room.     What,  then,  was  he  laughing  about? 

W^hile  we  were  standing  silently  gazing  on  one  another,  with 
much  agitation,  the  laugh  was  repeated,  but  longer  and  louder 
than  before,  accompanied  -with  the  sound  of  footsteps,  now  cross- 
ing the  room — then,  as  if  of  one  jumping!  The  ladies  turned 
paler  than  before,  and  seemed  scarcely  able  to  stand.  ■  They 
sank  again  into  their  chairs,  gasping  with  terror.  "Go  in, 
nurse,  and  see  what's  the  matter,"  said  I,  standing  by  the  side 
of  the  younger  of  the  ladies,  whom  I  expected  every  instant 
to  fall  into  my  arms  in  a  swoon. 

— how  it  distorted  and  convulsed  those  fair  and  handsome  features!  To  see 
the  mild  eye  of  heauty  suhjected  to  the  horrihle  upturned  glare  described  above, 
and  the  slender  fingers  black  and  clenched — the  froth  bubbling  on  the  lips— the 
grinding  of  the  teeth  1— would  it  not  shock  and  wring  the  heart  of  the  beholder! 
It  did  mine,  accustomed  as  I  am  to  such  spectacles. 

Insanity  at  length  made  its  appearance,  and  locked  its  hapless  victim  in  its 
embraces  for  nearly  a  year.  She  was  removed  to  a  private  asylum,  and  for  m 
weeks  was  chained  by  a  staple  to  the  wall  of  her  bedroom,  in  addition  to  endu- 
ring a  strait  waistcoat.  On  one  occasion  I  saw  her  in  one  of  her  most  frantic 
moods.  She  cursed  and  swore  in  the  most  diabolical  manner,  and  yelled,  and 
laughed,  and  chattered  her  teeth,  and  spit !  The  beautiful  hair  had  been  shaved 
off,  and  was  then  scarce  half-an-inch  long,  so  that  she  hardly  looked  like  a 
female  about  the  head.  The  eyes,  too,  were  surrounded  by  dark  areola,  and 
her  mouth  disfigured  by  her  swollen  tongue  and  lips,  which  she  had  severely 
bitten.  She  motioned  me  to  draw  near  her,  when  she  had  become  a  little  more 
tranquil,  and  I  thoughtlessly  acceded.  When  I  was  within  a  foot  of  her,  she 
made  a  sudden  and  desperate  plunge  towards  me,  motioning  with  her  lips  as 
though  she  would  have  torn  me,  like  a  tigress  its  prey  I  I  thank  God  that  her 
hands  were  handcuffed  behind  her,  or  I  must  have  suffered  severely.  She  once 
bit  off  the  little  finger  of  one  of  the  nurses  who  was  feeding  her ! 
****** 

When  she  was  sufficiently  recovered  to  be  removed  from House,  she  -ww 

taken  to  the  south  of  France  by  my  directions.  She  was  in  a  very  shattered 
state  of  health,  and  survived  her  removal  no  more  than  three  months. 

AVho  can  deny  that  this  poor  girl  fell  a  victim  to  the  pestilent  effects  ul 
romance  reading  ? 


THE  SPECTRE-SMITTEN. — CHAPTER  XVII.  259 

"  Doctor! — go  in  ? — I — I — I  dare  not ! "  stammered  the  nurse", 
pale  as  ashes,  and  trembling  violently. 

"  Do  you  come  here,  then,  and  attend  to  Mrs ,"  said  I, 

"  and  I  will  go  in."  The  nurse  staggered  to  my  place,  in  a  state 
not  far  removed  from  that  of  the  lady  vphom  she  was  called  to 
attend ;  for  a  third  laugh — long,  loud,  uproarious — had  burst 
from  the  room  vphile  I  was  speaking.  After  cautioning  the  ladies 
and  the  nurse  to  observe  profound  silence,  and  not  to  attempt 
following  me  till  I  sent  for  them,  I  stepped  noiselessly  to  the 
bedroom  door,  and  opened  it  slowly  and  softly  not  to  alarm  him. 
All  was  silent  within ;  but  the  first  object  that  presented  itself, 
when  I  saw  fairly  into  the  room,  can  never  be  effaced  from  my 

mind  to  the  day  of  my  death.     Mr  M had  got  out  of  bed,* 

pulled  off  his  shirt,  and  stepped  to  the  dressing-table,  where  he 
stood  stark  naked  before  the  glass,  with  a  razor  in  his  right 
hand,  with  which  he  had  just  finished  shaving  off  his  eyebrows; 
and  he  was  eyeing  himself  steadfastly  in  the  glass,  holding  the 
razor  elevated  above  his  head.  On  seeing  the  door  open,  and 
my  face  peering  at  him,  he  turned  full  towards  me,  (the  gro- 
tesque aspect  of  his  countenance,  denuded  of  so  prominent  a 
feature  as  the  eyebrows,  and  his  head  completely  shaved,  and 
the  wildfire  of  madness  flashing  from  his  staring  eyes,  exciting 
the  most  frightful  ideas,)  brandishing  the  razor  over  his  head 
with  an  air  of  triumph,  and  shouting  nearly  at  the  top  of  his 
voice — "  Ah,  ha,  ha ! — What  do  you  think  of  this  ?  " 

Merciful  Heaven  !  may  I  never  be  placed  again  in  such  peri- 
lous circumstances,  nor  have  my  mind  overwhelmed  with  such 
a  gush  of  horror  as  burst  over  it  at  that  moment !  What  was  I 
'  to  do  ?  Obeying  a  sudden  impulse,  I  had  entered  the  room, 
;  shutting  the  door  after  me  ;  and,  should  any  one  in  the  sitting- 
si*  room  suddenly  attempt  to  open  it  again,  or  make  a  noise  or  dis- 
**  turbance  of  any  kind,  by  giving  vent  to  their  emotions,  what 
!     was  to  become  of  the  madman  or  ourselves  ?     He  might,  in  an 

'  •  Since  this  was  publislied,  I  liave  teen  favoured,  by  Sir  Henry  Halford,  with 

P  the  sight  of  a  narrative  of  a  case  remarkably  similar  to  the  present  one,  but 
iifi  told,  I  need  hardly  say,  with  far  more  er^'^P^ic  ability.  I  hope — nay,  I  believe 
jj>  — ^It  will  shortly  be  published  by  the  learned  and  accomplished  baronet.  (It 
j{i  has— in  the  "Essays  and  Orations  read  and  delivered  at  the  Royal  College  of 
I'hyiiicians,"  &c.  &c.,  since  published. — Note  to  the  Third  Edition.) 


260  DIAKT  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

instant,  almost  sever  his  head  from  his  shoulders,  or  burst  upon 
me  or  his  sisters,  and  do  us  some  deadly  mischief!  I  felt  con- 
scious that  the  lives  of  all  of  us  depended  on  my  conduct ;  and  I 
devoutly  thank  God  for  the  measure  of  tolerable  self-possession 
which  was  vouchsafed  to  me  at  that  dreadful  moment.  I  con- 
tinued standing  like  a  statue,  motionless  and  silent,  endeavouring 
to  fix  my  eye  on  him,  that  I  might  gain  the  command  oihis;  that 
successful,  I  had  some  hopes  of  being  able  to  deal  with  him. 
He,  in  turn,  now  stood  speechless,  and  I  thought  he  was  quail- 
ing— -that  I  had  overmastered  him — when  I  was  suddenly  fit  to 
faint  with  despair,  for  at  that  awful  instant  I  heard  the  door- 
handle tried — the  door  pushed  gently  open — and  saw  the  nurse, 
I  supposed,  or  one  of  the  ladies  peeping  through  it.  The  maniac 
also  heard  it — the  spell  was  broken — and,  in  a  frenzy,  he  leaped 
several  times  successively  in  the  air,  brandishing  the  razor  over 
his  head  as  before. 

While  he  was  in  the  midst  of  these  feats,  I  turned  my  head 
hurriedly  to  the  person  who  had  so  cruelly  disobeyed  my  orders, 
thereby  endangering  my  life,  and  whispered  in  low  afFrighted 
accents  :  "  At  the  peril  of  your  lives — of  mine — shut  the  door— 
away,  away — hush !  or  we  are  all  murdered ! "  I  was  obeyed— 
the  intruder  withdrew,  and  I  heard  a  sound  as  if  she  had  fallen 
to  the  floor,  probably  in  a  swoon.  Fortunately  the  madman  was 
so  occupied  with  his  antics,  that  he  did  not  observe  what  had 
passed  at  the  door.  It  was  the  nurse  who  made  the  attempt  to 
discover  what  was  going  on,  I  afterwards  learned — but  unsuc- 
cessfully, for  she  had  seen  nothing.  My  injunctions  were 
obeyed  to  the  letter,  for  they  maintained  a  profound  silence, 
imbroken  but  by  a  faint  sighing  sound,  which  1  should  not  have 
heard,  but  that  my  ears  were  painfully  sensitive  to  the  slightest 
noise.  To  return,  however,  to  myself,  and  my  fearful  chamber 
companion. 

"  Mighty  talisman  !  "  he  exclaimed,  holding  the  razor  before 
him,  and  gazing  earnestly  at  it,  "how  utterly  unworthy — how 
infamous  the  common  use  men  put  thee  to  ! "  Still  he  contLnued 
standing  with  his  eyes  fixed  intently  upon  the  deadly  weapon— 
I  all  the  while  uttering  not  a  sound,  nor  moving  a  muscle,  but 
waiting  for  our  eyes  to  meet  unee  more. 


TUB  SPECTEE-SMITTES. —  CHAPTER  XVII.  2G] 

"  Ha !  Doctor !    how  easily  I  keep  you  at  bay,  though 

little  my  weapon — thus,"  he  gaily  exclaimed,  at  the  same  time 
assuming  one  of  the  postures  of  the  broadsword  exercise ;  but  I 
observed  that  he  cautiously  avoided  meeting  my  eye  again.  I 
crossed  my  arms  submissively  on  my  breast,  and  continued  in 
perfect  silence,  endeavouring,  but  in  vain,  to  catch  a  glance  of 
his  eye.  I  did  not  wish  to  excite  any  emotion  in  him,  except 
such  as  might  have  a  tendency  to  calm,  pacify,  disarm  him. 
Seeing  me  stand  thus,  and  manifesting  no  disposition  to  meddle 
with  him,  he  raised  his  left  hand  to  his  face,  and  rubbed  his  fin- 
gers rapidly  over  the  site  of  his  shaved  eyebrows.  He  seemed, 
I  thought,  inclined  to  go  over  them  a  second  time,  when  a  knock 
was  heard  at  the  outer  chamber  door,  which  I  instantly  recog- 
nized as  that  of  Mr ,  the  apothecary.     The  madman  also 

heard  it,  and  turned  suddenly  pale,  and  moved  away  from  the 
glass  opposite  which  he  had  been  stooping.  "  Oh — oh  !  "  he 
groaned,  while  his  features  assumed  an  air  of  the  blankest  affright, 
every  muscle  quivering,  and  every  limb  trembling  from  head  to 

foot — "  Is  that — is — is  that  T come  for  me  ?  "     He  let  fall 

the  razor  on  the  floor,  and  clasping  his  hands  in  an  agony  of 
apprehension,  he  retreated,  crouching  and  cowering  doM'n  to- 
wards the  more  distant  part  of  the  room,  where  he  continued 
peering  round  the  bed-post,  his  eyes  straining,  as  though  they 
would  start  from  their  sockets,  and  fixed  steadfastly  upon  the 
door.  I  heard  him  rustling  the  bed-curtain  and  shaking  it ;  but 
very  gently,  as  if  wishing  to  cover  and  conceal  himself  within  its 
folds. 

O  humanity! — Was  that  poor  being— that  pitiable  maniac — 
was  that  the  once  gay,  gifted,  brilliant  M ? 

To  return.  My  attention  was  wholly  occupied  with  one 
object,  the  razor  on  the  floor.  How  I  thanked  God  for  the 
gleam  of  hope  that  all  might  yet  be  right — that  I  might  suc- 
ceed in  obtaining  possession  of  the  deadly  weapon,  and  putting 
it  beyond  his  reach !  But  how  was  I  to  do  all  this  ?  I  stole 
gradually  towards  the  spot  where  the  razor  lay,  without  removing 
once  my  eye  from  his,  nor  he  his  from  the  dreaded  door,  intend- 
ing, as  soon  as  I  should  have  come  pretty  near  it,  to  make  a 
sudden  snatch  at  the  horrid  implement  of  destruction.     I  did — 


262  "DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

I  succeeded — I  got  it  into  my  possession,  scarcely  crediting  my 
senses.     I  had  hardly  grasped  my  prize  when  the  door  opened, 

and  Mr ,  the  apothecarj',  entered,  sufficiently  startled  and 

bewildered,  as  it  may  be  supposed,  with  the  strange  aspect  of 
things. 

"  Ha — ha — ha !  It's  you,  is  it — it's  you — you  anatomy ! — ^you 
plaster!  How  dare  you  mock  me  in  this  horrid  way,  eh?" 
shouted  the  maniac;  and,  springing  like  a  lion  from  his  lair, 
he  made  for  the  spot  where  the  confounded  apothecary  stood, 
stupefied  with  terror.  I  verily  believe  he  would  have  been 
destroyed,  torn  to  pieces,  or  cruelly  maltreated  in  some  way  or 
other,  had  I  not  starteil  and  thrown  myself  between  the  maniac 
and  the  unwitting  object  of  his  vengeance,  exclaiming  at  the 
same  time,  as  a  dernier  resort,  a  sudden  and  strong  appeal  to  his 
fears— "Remember!— T !  T !  T !" 

"  I  do — I  do ! "  stammered  the  maniac,  stepping  back  per- 
fectly aghast.  He  seemed  utterlj'  petrified,  and  sank  shivering 
down  again  into  his  former  position  at  the  corner  of  the  bed, 
moaning — "Oh  me!  wretched  me!   Away — away — away!"  I 

then  stepped  to  Mr ,  who  had  not  moved  an  inch,  directed  him 

to  retire  instantly,  conduct  all  the  females  out  of  the  chambers, 
and  return  as  soon  as  possible  with  two  or  three  of  the  inn- 
porters,  or  any  other  able-bodied  men  he  could  procure  on  the 
spur  of  the  moment;  and  I  concluded  by  slipping  the  razor, 
unobservedly  as  I  thought,  into  his  hands,  and  bidding  him 
remove  it  to  a  place  of  safety.  He  obeyed,  and  I  found  myself 
once  more  alone  with  the  madman. 

"  M !  dear  Mr  M !  I've  got  something  to  say  to  you 

— I  have  indeed ;  it's  very,  very  particular."  I  commenced, 
approaching  him  slowly,  and  speaking  the  softest  tones  con- 
ceivable. 

"  But  you've  forgotten  this,  you  fool,  you! — you  have!"  he 
replied  fiercely,  approaching  the  dressing-table,  and  suddenly 
seizing  another  razor — the  fellow  of  the  one  I  had  got  hold  of 
with  such  pains  and  peril — and  which,  alas,  alas!  had  never 
once  caught  my  eye !  I  gave  myself  up  for  lost,  fully  expecting 
that  I  should  be  murdered,  when  I  saw  the  bloodthirsty  spirit 
with  which  he  clutched  it,  brandished  it  over  his  head,  and  with 


THE  SPECTEE-SMITTEN. — CHAPTER  XVII.  263 

a  smile  of  fiendish  derision,  shook  it  full  before  me!  I  trembled, 
however,  the  next  moment,  for  himself;  for  he  drew  it  rapidly  to 
and  fro  before  his  throat,  as  though  he  would  give  the  fatal 
gash,  but  did  not  touch  the  skin.  He  gnashed  his  teelh  with  a 
kind  of  savage  satisfaction  at  the  dreadful  power  with  which  he 
was  consciously  armed. 

"  Oh,  Mr  M !  think  of  your  poor  mother  and  sisters ! " 

I  excLiimed  in  a  sorrowful  tone,  my  voice  faltering  with 
uncontrollable  agitation.  He  shook  the  razor  again  before  me 
with  an  air  of  defiance,  and  really  "  grinned  horribly  a  ghastly 
smile." 

"  Now,  suppose  I  choose  to  punish  your  perfidy,  you  wretch ! 
and  do  what  you  dread,  eh?"  said  he,  holding  the  razor  as 
if  he  were  going  to  cut  his  throat. 

"  Why,   wouldn't   it   be  nobler   to   forgive   and  forget,  Mr 

M ?"    I  replied  with  tolerable  firmness,  and  folding  my 

arms  on  my  breast,  anxious  to  appear  quite  at  ease. 

"  Too — too — too,  doctor ! — Too — too — too— too  !  Ha !  by  the 
way — what  do  you  say  to  a  razor  hornpipe — eh  ? — Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 
a  novelty  at  least ! "  He  began  forthwith  to  dance  a  few  steps, 
leaping  frantically  high,  and  uttering  at  intervals  a  sudden, 
shrill  dissonant  cry,  resembling  that  used  by  those  who  dance 
the  Highland  "  fling,"  or  some  other  species  of  Scottish  dance. 
I  affected  to  admire  his  dancing,  even  to  ecstasy,  clapping  my 
hands  and  shouting,  "  Bravo,  bravo ! — Encore !  "  He  seemed 
inclined  to  go  over  it  again,  but  was  too  much  exhausted,  and 
sat  down  panting  on  the  window-seat,  which  was  close  behind 
him. 

"  You'll  catch  cold,  Mr  M ,  sitting  in  that  draught  of  air, 

naked  and  perspiring  as  you  are.  Will  you  put  on  your  clothes  ?" 
said  I,  approaching  him. 

"  No !  "  he  replied  sternly,  and  extended  the  razor  threaten- 
ingly. I  fell  back  of  course,  not  knowing  what  to  do,  nor 
choosing  to  risk  either  his  destruction  or  my  own  by  attempting 
any  active  interference ;  for  what  was  to  be  done  with  a  mad- 
man who  had  an   open   razor  in   his   hand  ?     Mr  ,   the 

apothecary,  seemed  to  have  been  gone  an  age  ;  and  I  found  even 
my  temper  beginning  to  fail  me,  for  I  was  tired  with  his  tricks. 


264  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

deadly  dangerous  as  they  were.  My  attention,  however,  was 
soon  riveted  again  on  the  motions  of  the  maniac.  "  Yes — ye?, 
decidedly  so — I'm  too  hot  to  do  it  now — I  am!"  said  he,  wiping 
the  perspiration  from  his  forehead,  and  eyeing  the  razor  intently. 
I  must  get  calm  and  cool — and  then — then  for  the  sacrifice !  Aha, 
the  sacrifice  ! — Ad  offering — expiation — even  as  Abraham — ha, 
ha,  ha ! — But,  by  the  way,  how  did  Abraham  do  it — that  is,  how 
did  he  intend  to  have  done  it?   Ah,  I  must  ask  my  famihar?" 

"A  sacrifice,  Mr  M ?    Why,  what  do  you  mean?"  I 

enquired,  attempting  a  laugh — I  say,  attempting — for  my  blood 
trickled  chillily  through  my  veins,  and  my  heart  seemed  frozen. 
"  What  do  I  mean,  eh  ?  Wretch !  Dolt ! — What  do  I  mean? 
Why,  a  peace-offering  to  my  Maker,  for  a  badly-spent  life,  to  be 
sure !  One  would  think  you  had  never  heard  of  such  a  thing  as 
religion,  you  savage !" 

"  1  deny  that  the  sacrifice  would  be  accepted ;  and  for  two 
reasons,"  I  replied,  suddenly  recollecting  that  he  plumed  himself 
on  his  casuistry,  and  hoping  to  engage  him  on  some  new  crot- 
chet, which  might  keep  him  in  play  till  Mr returned  with 

assistance ;  but  I  was  mistaken ! 

"  Well,  well,  Doctor !  let  that  be  for  the  present — I  can't 

resolve  doubts  now — no,  no,"  he  replied  solemnly — "'tis  a  time 
for  action — for  action — for  action,"  he  continued,  gradually 
elevating  his  voice,  using  vehement  gesticulations,  and  rising 
from  his  seat. 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  I  warmly;  but  though  you've  followed 
closely  enough  the  advice  of  the  Talmudist,  in  shaving  oif  your 

eyebrows,  as  a  preparatory" 

"Aha!  aha! — What! — have  you  seen  the  Talmud!— Have 
you  really? — Well,"  he  added,  after  a  doubtful  pause,  "in  what 
do  you  think  I've  failed,  eh  ?  " 

I  need  hardly  say,  that  I  myself  scarcely  knew  what  led  me 
to  utter  the  nonsense  in  question  ;  but  I  have  several  times  found, 
in  cases  of  insanity,  that  suddenly  and  readily  supplying  a  motive 
for  the  patient's  conduct — referring  it  to  a  cause,  of  some  sort  or 
other,  with  steadfast  intrepidity — even  be  the  said  cause  never  so 
preposterously  absurd — has  been  attended  with  the  happiest 
effects,  in  arresting  the  patient's  attention — chiming  in  with  his 


THE  SPECTRE-SMITTEN. CHAPTEK  XVII.  265 

eccentric  fancies,  and  piquing  his  disturbed  faculties  into 
acquiescence  in  what  he  sees  coolly  taken  for  granted  as  quite 
true — a  thing  of  course — mere  matter-of-fact — by  the  person  he 
is  addressing.  I  have  several  times  recommended  this  little 
device  to  those  who  have  been  entrusted  with  the  care  of  the 
insane,  and  have  been  assured  of  its  success. 

"  You  are  very  near  the  mark,  I  own ;  but  it  strikes  me  that 
you  have  shaved  them  off  too  equally,  too  uniformly.  You  ought 
to  have  left  some  little  ridges — furrows — hem,  hem! — to — to — 
terminate,  or  resemble  the — the  striped  stick  which  Jacob  held 
up  before  the  ewes ! " 

"  Oh — ay — ay !  Exactly — true !  Strange  oversight!  "  he  re- 
plied, as  if  struck  with  the  truth  of  the  remark,  and  yet  puzzled 
by  vain  attempts  to  corroborate  it  by  his  own  recollections ;  "  I 
— I  recollect  it  now — but  it  isn't  too  late  yet — is  it  ?  " 

"  I  think  not,"  I  replied,  with  apparent  hesitation,  hardly  cre- 
diting the  success  of  my  strange  stratagem.  "  To  be  sure,  it 
will  require  very  great  delicacy;  but  as  you've  not  shaved  them  otf 
very  closely,  I  think  I  can  manage  it,"  I  continued  doubtfully. 

"  Oh,  oh,  oh ! "  growled  the  maniac,  while  his  eyes  flashed 
fire  at  me.  "  There's  one  sitting  by  me  that  tells  me  you  are 
dealing  falsely  with  me — oh,  lying  villain!  oh,  perfidious 
wretch !  "     At  that  moment  the  door  opened  gently  behind  me, 

and  the  voice  of  Mr ,  the  apothecary,  whispered  in  a  low 

hurried  tone,  "  Doctor,  I've  got  three  of  the  inn-porters  here,  in 
the  sitting-room,"  Though  the  whisper  was  almost  inaudible 
even  to  me,  when  uttered  close  to  my  ear,  to  my  utter  amaze- 
ment M — —  had  heard  every  syllable  of  it,  and  understood  it 
too,  as  if  some  officious  minion  of  Satan  himself  had  quickened 
his  ears,  or  conveyed  the  intelligence  to  him. 

"  Ah,  ha,  ha ! — Ha,  ha,  ha ! — Fools  I  knaves,  harpies ! — and 
what  are  you  and  your  hired  desperadoes  to  me  f  Thus — thus 
do  I  outwit  you — thus!  "  and,  springing  from  his  seat,  he  sud- 
denly drew  up  the  lower  part  of  the  window-frame,  and  looked 
through  it — then  at  the  razor — and  again  at  me,  with  one  of  the 
most  awful  glances — full  of  dark  diabolical  meaning,  the  mo- 
mentary suggestion,  surely,  of  the  great  Tempter — that  I  ever 
encountered  in  my  life. 


266  DIAET  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

"  'Which ! — which ! — which  ! "  he  muttered  fiercely  through 
his  closed  teeth,  while  his  right  foot  rested  on  the  window-seat, 
ready  for  him  to  spring  out,  and  his  eye  travelled,  as  before, 
rapidly  from  the  razor  to  the  window.  Can  any  thing  be  con- 
ceived more  palsying  to  the  beholders  ?  "  Why  did  not  you  and 
your  strong  reinforcement  spring  at  once  upon  him  and  over- 
power him?"  possibly  some  one  is  asking.  What!  and  he 
armed  with  a  naked  razor  ?  His  head  might  have  been  severed 
from  his  shoulders,  before  we  could  have  overmastered  him — or 
we  might  ourselves — at  least  one  of  us — have  been  murdered,  or 
cruelly  maimed  in  the   attempt.     We  knew  not  what  to  do! 

M suddenly  withdrew  his  head  from  the  window  through 

which  he  had  been  gazing,  with  a  shuddering,  horror-stricken 
emotion,   and   groaned — "  No !    no !   no !    I  won't — can't — for 

there's  T standing  just  beneath,  his  face  all  blazing,  and 

waiting  with  outspread  arms  to  catch  me,"  standing,  at  the 
same  time,  shading  his  eyes  with  his  left  hand — when  I  whis- 
pered— "  Now,  now !  go  up  to  him — secure  him — all  three 
spring  on  him  at  once,  and  disarm  him  ! "  They  obeyed  me, 
and  were  in  the  act  of  rushing  into  the  room,  when  M sud- 
denly planted  himself  into  a  posture  of  defiance,  elevated  the 
razor  to  his  throat,  and  almost  howled — "  One  step — one  step 
nearer — and  I — I — I — so ! "  motioning  as  though  he  would  draw 
it  from  one  ear  to  the  other.  We  all  fell  back,  horror-struck, 
and  in  silence.  What  could  we  do  ?  If  we  moved  towards  him, 
or  made  use  of  any  threatening  gestures,  we  should  see  the  floor 
in  an  instant  deluged  with  his  blood.  I  once  more  crossed  my 
arms  on  my  breast,  with  an  air  of  mute  submission. 

"  Ha,  ha ! "  he  exclaimed  after  a  pause,  evidently  pleased  with 
such  a  demonstration  of  his  power,  "  obedient,  however  ! — well 
— that's  one  merit !  But  still,  what  a  set  of  cowards — bullies — 
you  must  all  be  ! — What ! — all  four  of  you  afraid  oi  one  man?" 
In  the  course  of  his  frantic  gesticulations,  he  had  drawn  the  razor 
so  close  to  his  neck,  that  its  edge  had  slightly  grazed  the  skin 
under  his  left  ear,  and  a  little  blood  trickled  from  it  over  his 
shoulders  and  breast. 

"Blood! — hlood?  What  a  strange  feeling!  How  coldly  it 
fell  on  my  breast ! — How  did  I  do  it  ? — Shall — I — go— on,  as  I 


THE    SPECTRE-SMITTEN. CHAPTEB  XVII.  267 

have  made  a  beginning  ?"  he  exclaimed,  drawling  the  words  at 
great  length.  He  shuddered,  and — to  my  unutterable  joy  and 
astonishment— deliberately  closed  the  razor,  replaced  it  in  its 
case,  put  both  in  the  drawer;  and  having  done  all  this,  before 
we  ventured  to  approach  him,  he  fell  at  his  full  length  on  the 
floor,  and  began  to  yell  in  a  manner  that  was  perfectly  frightful ; 
but,  in  a  few  moments,  he  burst  into  tears,  and  cried  and  sobbed 
like  a  child.  We  took  him  up  in  our  arms,  he  groaning,  "  Oh! 
shorn  of  my  strength  ! — shorn!  shorn  like  Samson  !  Why  part 
with  my  weapon  ?  The  Philistines  be  upon  me !  " — and  laid 
him  down  on  the  bed,  where,  after  a  few  moments,  he  fell  asleep. 
When  he  woke  again,  a  strait  waistcoat  put  all  his  tremendous 
strugglings  at  defiance,  though  his  strength  seemed  increased  in 
a  tenfold  degree,  and  prevented  his  attempting  either  his  own 
life  or  that  of  any  one  near  him.  When  he  found  all  his  writh- 
ings  and  heavings  utterly  useless,  he  gnashed  his  teeth,  the  foam 
issued  from  his  mouth,  and  he  shouted,  "  I'll  be  even  with  you, 
you  incarnate  devils!  I  will! — I'll  suffocate  myself!"  and  he 
held  his  breath  till  he  grew  black  in  the  face,  when  he  gave  over 
the  attempt.  It  was  found  necessary  to  have  him  strapped  down 
to  the  bed :  and  his  bowlings  were  so  shocking  and  loud,  that 
we  began  to  think  of  removing  him,  even  in  that  dreadful  con- 
dition, to  a  madhouse.  I  ordered  his  head  to  be  shaved  again, 
and  kept  perpetually  covered  with  cloths  soaked  in  evaporating 
lotions ;  blisters  to  be  applied  behind  each  ear,  and  at  the  nape 
of  the  neck ;  leeches  to  the  temples ;  and  the  appropriate  inter- 
nal medicines  in  such  cases ;  and  left  him,  begging  I  might  be 
sent  for  instantly  in  the  event  of  his  getting  worse.*  Oh !  I 
shall  never  forget  this  harrowing  scene !  My  feelings  were 
wound  up  almost  to  bursting ;  nor  did  they  recover  their  pro- 
per tone  for  many  a  week.  I  cannot  conceive  that  the  people 
•whom  the  New  Testament  speaks  of  as  being  "  possessed  of 
devils,"  could  have  been  more  dreadful  in  appearance,  or  more 
outrageous  in  their  actions,  than  was  M ;  nor  can  I  help 

*  I  ouglit  to  have  mentioned,  a  little  way  back,  that,  in  obedience  to  my 
hurried  injunctions,  the  ladies  suffered  themselves,  almost  fainting  with  fright, 
to  be  conducted  silently  into  the  adjoining  chambers — and  it  was  well  they  did. 
Suppose  they  had  uttered  any  sudden  shriek,  or  attempted  to  interfere,  or  made 
a  disturbance  of  any  kind — what  would  have  become  of  us  all  ? 


268  DIART  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

suggesting  the  thought,  that,  possibly,  they  were  in  reahty 
nothing  more  than  the  maniacs  of  the  worst  kind.  And  is  not 
a  man  transformed  into  a  devil,  when  his  reason  is  utterly  over- 
turned ? 

On  seeing  M the  next  morning,  I  found  he  had  passed 

a  terrible  night — that  the  constraint  of  the  strait  waistcoat  filled 
him  incessantly  with  a  fury  that  was  absolutely  diabolical.  His 
tongue  was  dreadfully  lacerated ;  and  the  whites  of  his  eyes, 
with  perpetual  straining,  were  discoloured  with  a  reddish  hue, 
like  ferrets'  eyes.  He  was  truly  a  piteous  spectacle!  One's 
heart  ached  to  looked  at  him,  and  think  for  a  moment  of  the 

fearful  contrast  he  formed  to  the  gay  M he  was  only  a  few 

days  before,  the  delight  of  refined  society,  and  the  idol  of  all  his 
friends !  He  lay  in  a  most  precarious  state  for  a  fortnight ; 
and  though  the  fits  of  outrageous  madness  had  ceased,  or  become 
much  mitigated,  and  interrupted  not  unfrequently  with  "  lucid 
intervals,"  as  the  phrase  is,  I  began  to  be  apprehensive  of  his 
sinking  eventually  into  that  hopeless,  deplorable  condition, 
idiocy.  During  one  of  his  intervals  of  sanity — when  the  savage 
fiend  relaxed  for  a  moment  the  hold  he  had  taken  of  the  victim's 

faculties — M said  something  according  with  a  fact  which 

it  was  impossible  for  him  to  have  any  knowledge  of  by  the 
senses,  which  was  to  me  singular  and  inexplicable.*  It  was 
about  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  the  third  day,  after  that 

on  which  the  scene  above  described  took  place,  that  M 

who  was  lying  in  a  state  of  the  utmost  lassitude  and  exhaustion, 
scarcely  able  to  open  his  eyes,  turned  his  head  slowly  towards 

Mr ,  the  apothecary,  who  was  sitting  by  his  bedside,  and 

whispering  to  him — "  They  are  preparing  to  bury  that  wretched 
fellow  next  door — hush  !  hush  ! — one  of  the  coffin  trestles  has 

fallen — hush  ! "     Mr and  the  nurse,  who  had  heard  him, 

both  strained  their  ears  to  listen,  but  could  hear  not  even  a 
mouse  stirring. — "  There's  somebody  come  in — a  lady,  kissing 
his  lips  before  he's  screwed  down — Oh !  I  hope  she  won't  be 

*  This  incident  has  heen  selected,  hy  the  condnctor  of  a  quarterly  religious 
journal,  called  "  The  Morning  Watch"  as  a  striking  instance  of  supernatural 
agency,  and  tending  to  confirm  certain  notions  which  have  lately  occasioned  not 
a  little  astonishment  and  confusion  in  the  world. 


THE  SPECTKE-SMITTEN CHAPTER  XVII.  265 

scorch'd — that's  all !"  He  then  turned  away  his  head,  with  no 
appearance  of  emotion,  and  presently  fell  asleep.  Through 
mere  curiosity,  Mr looked  at  his  watch,  and  from  subse- 
quent enquiry  ascertained  that,  sure  enough,  about  the  time  when 
his  patient  had  spoken,  they  were  about  burying  his  neighbour; 
that  one  of  the  trestles  did  slip  a  little  aside,  and  the  coffin,  in 
consequence,  was  near  falling ;  and  finally,  marvellous  to  tell, 
that  a  lady,  one  of  the  deceased's  relatives,  I  believe,  did  come 

and  kiss  the  corpse,  and  cry  bitterly  over  it!    Neither  Mr 

nor  the  nurse  heard  any  noise  whatever  during  the  time  of  the 
burial  preparations  next  door,  for  the  people  had  been  earnestly 
requested  to  be  as  quiet  about  them  as  possible,  and  really  made 
no  disturbance  whatever.  By  what  strange  means  he  had 
acquired  his  information— whether  or  not  he  was  indebted  for 
some  portion  of  it  to  the  exquisite  delicacy,  the  morbid  sensitive- 
ness of  the  organs  of  hearing,  I  cannot  conjecture  ;  but  how  are 
we  to  account  for  the  latter  part  of  what  he  uttered  about  the 
lady's  kissing  the  corpse,  &c.  ? — On  another  occasion,  during 
one  of  his  most  placid  moods,  but  not  in  any  lucid  interval,  he 
insisted  on  my  taking  pen,  ink,  and  paper,  and  turning  amanu- 
ensis. To  quiet  him,  I  acquiesced,  and  wrote  what  he  dictated ; 
and  the  manuscript  now  lies  before  me,  and  is,  verbatim  et 
literatim,  as  follows : — 

"  I,   T M ,   saw — what  saw  I  ?     A  solemn  silver 

grove — there  were  innumerable  spirits*  sleeping  among  the 
branches — (and  it  is  this,  though  unobserved  of  naturalists,  that 
makes  the  aspen-tree's  leaves  to  quiver  so  much — it  is  this,  I 
say,  namely,  the  rustling  movements  of  the  spirits) — and  in  the 
midst  of  this  grove  was  a  beautiful  site  for  a  statue,  and  one 
there  assuredly  was — but  what  a  statue !  Transparent,  of  a 
stupendous  size,  through  which — the  sky  was  cloudy  and 
troubled — a  ship  was  seen  sinking  at  sea,  and  the  crew  at 
cards :  but  the  good  spirit  of  the  storm  saved  them,  for  he 
showed  them  the  key  of  the  universe :  and  a  shoal  of  sharks, 
with  murderous  eyes,  were  disappointed  of  a  meal.  Lo,  man, 
behold  ! — another  part  of  this  statue — what  a  one ! — has  a 
rissuRE  in  it :  it  opens — widens  into  a  parlour,  in  darkness ; 
•  The  words  in  Italics  were  at  the  instance  of  31 ■. 


270  DIAKT  OF  A  XATB  PHTSICIAN. 

and  now  shall  be  disclosed  the  horror  of  horrors ;  for  lo !  some 
one  sitting — easy-chair — fiery  face — fiend — fiend — O  God!  0 
God !  save  me ! "  cried  he.  He  ceased  speaking,  with  a  shud- 
der ;  nor  did  he  resume  the  dictation,  for  he  seemed  in  a  moment 
to  have  forgotten  that  he  had  dictated  at  all.  I  preserved  the 
paper ;  and,  gibberish  though  it  is,  I  consider  it  both  curious 
and  highly  characteristic  throughout.  Judging  from  the  latter 
part  of  it,  where  he  speaks  of  a  "  dark  parlour,  with  some  fiery- 
faced  fiend  sitting  in  an  easy-chair,''^  and  coupling  this  with 
various  similar  expressions  and  allusions  which  be  made  during 
his  ravings,  I  felt  convinced  that  his  fancy  was  occupied  with 
some  one  individual  image  of  horror,  which  had  scared  him  into 
madness,  and  now  clung  to  his  disordered  faculties  like  a  fiend. 
He  often  talked  about  "  spectres,"  "  spectral ; "  and  uttered 
incessantly  the  words  "  spectre-smitten."  The  nurse  once  asked 
him  what  he  meant  by  these  words.  He  started — grew  dis- 
turbed— his  eye  glanced  with  aflPriglit — and  he  shook  his  head, 
exclaiming,  "Horror!"  A  few  days  afterwards,  he  hired  an 
amanuensis,  who,  of  course,  was  duly  apprized  of  the  sort  of 
person  he  had  to  deal  with ;  and,  after  a  painfully  ludicrous 

scene,  M attempting  to  beat  down  the  man's  terms  from  a 

guinea  and  a  half  a-week,  to  half-a-croum,  he  engaged  him  for 
three  guineas,  he  said,  and  insisted  on  his  taking  up  his  station 
at  the  side  of  the  bed,  in  order  that  he  might  minute  down  every 

word  that  was  uttered.     M told  him  he  was  going  to  dic-t 

tate  a  romance  ! 

It  would  have  required,  in  truth,  the  "  pen  of  a  ready  writer" 

to  keep  pace  with  poor  M 's  utterance ;  for  he  raved  on  at  a 

prodigious  rate,  in  a  strain,  it  need  hardly  be  said,  of  unconnected 
absurdities.  Really,  it  was  inconceivable  nonsense ;  rhapsodical 
rantings  in  the  Maturin  style,  full  of  vaults,  sepulchres,  spectres, 
devils,  magic ;  with  here  and  tliere  a  thought  of  real  poetry.  It 
was  piteous  to  peruse  it !  His  amanuensis  found  it  impossible 
to  keep  up  with  him,  and  therefore  profited  by  a  hint  from  one 
of  us,  and  instead  of  writing,  merely  moved  his  pen  rapidly  over 
the  paper,  scrawling  all  sorts  of  ragged   lines  and  figures  to 

resemble  writing !     M never  asked  him  to  read  it  over,  nor 

requested  to  see  it  himself;  but,  after  about  fifty  pages  were 


THE  SPECTRE-SMITTEN. CHAFTEE  XVII.  271 

done,  dictated  a  title-page — pitched  on  publishers — settled  the 
price  and  number  of  volumes— /owr.' — and  then  exclaimed — 
"  Well !— thank  God— that's  off  my  mind  at  last ! "  He  never 
mentioned  it  afterwards ;  and  his  brother  committed  the  whole 
to  the  flames  about  a  week  after. 

M had  not,  however,  yet  done  with  his  amanuensis,  but 

put  his  services  in  requisition  in  quite  another  capacity — that  of 
reader.  Milton  was  the  book  he  selected  ;  and,  actually,  they 
went  through  very  nearly  nine  books,  M perpetually  inter- 
rupting him  with  comments,  sometimes  saying  surpassingly 
absurd,  and  occasionally  very  fine,  forcible  things.  All  this 
formed  a  truly  touching  illustration  of  that  beautiful,  often 
quoted  sentiment  of  Horace — 

Qi;o  semel,  est  imtuta  recens,  servatit  odorem 
Testa  diu.  Epiat.  Lib.  J.  Ep.  2.  69.  70. 


As  there  was  no  prospect  of  his  speedily  recovering  the  use  of 
his  reasoning  faculties,  he  was  removed  to  a  private  asylum, 
where  I  attended  him  regularly  for  more  than  six  months.  He 
was  reduced  to  a  state  of  drivelling  idiocy — complete  fatuity ! 
Lamentable !  heart-rending  !  Oh !  how  deplorable  to  see  a 
man  of  superior  intellect — one  whose  services  are  really  wanted 
in  society — the  prey  of  madness ! 

Dr  Johnson  was  well  known  to  express  a  peculiar  horror  of 
insanity.  "O  God!"  said  he,  "afflict  my  body  with  what  tor- 
tures thou  wiliest;  but  spare  my  reason!"  Where  is  he  that 
does  not  join  him  in  uttering  such  a  prayer  ? 

It  would  be  beside  my  purpose  here  to  enter  into  abstract 
speculations,  or  purely  professional  details,  concerning  insanity; 
but  one  or  two  brief  and  simple  remarks,  the  fruits  of  much 
experience  and  consideration,  may  perhaps  be  pardoned  me. 

It  is  still  a  vexata  qiuestio  in  our  profession,  whether  persons 
of  strong  or  weak  minds — whether  the  ignorant  or  the  highly 
cultivated — are  most  frequently  the  subjects  of  insanity.  If  we 
are  disposed  to  listen  to  a  generally  shrewd  and  intelligent  writer, 
(Dr  Monro,  in  his  "  Philosophy  of  Human  Nature")  we  are  to 
understand  that  "  children,  and  people  of  weak  minds,  are  never 


272  DIARY  or  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

subject  to  madness ;  for,"  adds  the  doctor,  "how  can  he  despair 
who  cannot  think  ?  "  Though  the  logic  here  is  somewhat  loose 
and  leaky,  I  am  disposed  to  agree  with  the  doctor  in  the  main ; 
and  I  ground  my  acquiescence — 

First,  On  the  truth  of  Locke's  distinction,  laid  down  in  his 
great  work,  (Book  ii.  c.  ii.  §§  12  and  13,)  where  he  mentions  tlie 
difl'erence  "  between  idiots  and  madmen,"  and  thus  states  the 
sum  of  his  observations ; — "  In  short,  herein  seems  to  lie  the 
difference  between  idiots  and  madmen,  that  madmen  put  wrong 
ideas  together,  and  do  make  wrong  propositions,  but  argue  and 
reason  right  from  them  ;  but  idiots  make  very  few  or  no  proposi- 
tions, and  reason  scarce  at  all." 

Secondly,  On  the  corroboration  afforded  to  it  by  my  own 
experience.  I  have  generally  found  that  those  persons  who  are 
most  dislijiguished  for  their  powers  of  thought  and  reasoning 
when  of  sound  mind,  continue  to  exercise  that  power,  but  incor- 
rectly, and  be  distinguished  by  their  exercise  of  that  power  when 
of  unsound  mind — their  understanding  retaining,  even  after  such 
a  shock  and  revolution  of  its  faculties,  the  bent  and  bias 
impressed  upon  it  beforehand  ;  and  I  have  found,  further,  that  it 
has  been  chiefly  those  of  such  character — i.  e.  thinkers — that  have 
fallen  into  madness  ;  and  that  it  is  the  perpetual  straining  and 
taxing  of  their  strong  intellects  at  the  expense  of  their  bodies, 
that  has  brought  them  into  such  a  calamity.  Suppose,  there- 
fore, we  say,  in  short,  that  madness  is  the  fate  of  strong  minds, 
or,  at  least,  minds  many  degrees  removed  from  weak;  a,m\  idiocy 
of  weak,  imbecile  minds.  This  supposition,  however,  involves 
a  sorry  sort  of  compliment  to  the  fair  sex ;  for  it  is  notorious  that 
the  annual  majority  of  those  received  into  lunatic  asylums,  are 
females. 

I  have  found  imaginative,  fanciful  people,  the  most  liable  to 
attacks  of  insanity;  and  have  had  under  my  care  four  sucli 
instances,  or,  at  least,  very  nearly  resembling  the  one  I  am  now 
relating,  in  which  insanity  has  ensued  from  sudden /no-At  And 
it  is  easily  accounted  for.  The  imagination — the  predominant 
facuUy — is  immediately  appealed  to  ;  and,  eminently  lively  and 
tenacious  of  impressions,  exerts  its  superior  and  more  practised 
powers,  at  the  expense  of  the  judgment,  or  reason,  which  it 


THE  SPECTRE-SMITTEN. CHAPTER  XVII.  273 

tramples  upon  and  crushes.  There  is  then  nothing  left  in  the 
mind  that  may  make  head  against  this  unnatural  dominancy ; 
and  the  result  is  generally  not  unlike  that  in  the  present  instance. 
As  for  my  general  system  of  treatment,  it  may  all  be  comprised 
in   a  word   or   two — acquiescence  ;    submission  ;    suggestion ; 

soothing.*     Had  I  pursued  a  different  plan  with  M ,  what 

might  have  been  the  disastrous  issue ! 

To  return,  however :  The  reader  may  possibly  recollect  seeing 
something  like  the  following  expression,  occurring  in  ''  The 
Broken  Heart;  f  "  A  candle  flickering  and  expiring  in  its  socket, 
which  suddenly  shoots  up  into  an  instantaneous  brilliance,  and 
then  is  utterly  extinguished."  I  have  referred  to  it,  merely  be- 
cause it  aflbrds  a  very  apt  illustration — apter  than  any  that  now 
suggests  itself  to  me  of  what  sometimes  takes  place  in  madness 
The  roaring  flame  of  insanity  sinks  into  the  sullen  smoulder- 
ing embers  of  complete  fatuity,  and  remains  so  for  months ;  when, 
like  that  of  the  candle  just  alluded  to,  it  will  instantaneously 
gather  up  and  concentrate  its  expiring  energies  into  one  terrific 
blaze,  one  final  paroxysm  of  outrageous  mania ;  and,  lo !  it  has 
consumed  itself  utterly — burnt  itself  out — and  the  patient  is 
unexpectedly  restored  to  reason.  The  experience  of  my  medi- 
cal readers,  if  it  have  lain  at  all  in  the  track  of  insanity,  must 
have  presented  such  cases  to  their  notice  not  unfrequently.  How- 
ever metaphysical  ingenuity  may  set  us  speculating  about  "  the 
why  and  wherefore  "  of  it,  the  fact  is  undeniable.     It  was  thus 

with  Mr  M .     He  had  sunk  into  the  deplorable  condition  of 

a  simple,  harmless,  melancholy  idiot,  and  was  released  from  for- 
mal constraint ;  but  suddenly,  one  morning  while  at  breakfast, 
he  sprang  upon  the  person  who  always  attended  him ;  and,  had 
not  the  man  been  very  muscular,  and  practised  in  such  matters, 
he  must  have  been  soon  overpowered,  and  perhaps  murdered.  A 
long  and  deadly  wrestle  took  place  between  them.  Thrice  they 
threw  each  other ;  and  the  keeper  saw  that  the  madman  several 
times  cast  a  longing  eye  towards  a  knife  which  lay  on  the  break- 
fast table,  and  endeavoured  to  sway  his  antagonist  so  as  to  get 
himself  within  its  reach.  Both  were  getting  exhausted  with  the 
prolonged  struggle ;  and  the  keeper,  really  afraid  for  his  life,  deter- 

*  See  the  case,  "Intriguing  and  Madness,*'  supra,  p.  75.        t  Supra,  p.  104. 
1  S 


274  DIARY  or  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

rained  to  settle  matters  as  soon  as  possible.  The  instant,  there- 
fore,  that  he  could  get  his  right  arm  disengaged,  he  hit  poor 

M a  dreadful  blow  on  the  side  of  the  head,  which  felled 

him,  and  he  lay  senseless  on  the  floor,  the  blood  pouring  fast 
from  his  ears,  nose,  and  mouth.  He  was  again  confined  in  a 
strait  waistcoat,  and  conveyed  to  bed,  when,  what  with  exhaus- 
tion, and  the  effect  of  the  medicines  which  had  been  administered, 
he  fell  into  profound  sleep,  which  continued  all  day,  and,  with 
little  intermission,  through  the  night.  When  he  awoke  in  the 
morning,  lo !  he  was  "  in  his  right  mind  !  "  His  calm  tranquil- 
lized features,  and  the  sobered  expression  of  his  eyes,  showed 
that  the  sun  of  reason  had  really  once  more  dawned  upon  his 
long  benighted  faculties.     Ay,  he  was 

•  himself  again. 

I  heard  of  the  good  news  before  I  saw  him ;  and,  on  hastening 
to  his  room,  found  it  was  indeed  so ;  his  altered  appearance,  at 
first  sight,  amply  corroborated  it !  How  different  the  mild  sad 
smile  now  beaming  on  his  pallid  features,  from  the  vacant  stare, 
the  unmeaning  laugh  of  idiocy,  or  the  fiendish  glare  of  madness! 
The  contrast  was  strong  as  that  between  the  soft  stealing  expan- 
sive twilight,  and  the  burning  blaze  of  noonday.  He  spoke  in 
a  very  feeble,  almost  inarticulate  voice — complained  of  dreadful 
exhaustion — whispered  something  indistinctly  about  "waking 
from  a  long  and  dreary  dream  ; "  and  said  that  he  felt,  as  it  were, 
only  half  awake,  or  alive.  All  was  new,  strange,  startling! 
Fearful  of  taxing  too  much  his  new-born  powers,  I  feigned  an 
excuse,  and  took  my  leave,  recommended  him  cooling  and  quiet- 
ing medicines,  and  perfect  seclusion  from  visiters.  How  exhi- 
larated I  felt  my  own  spirits  all  that  day ! 

He  gradually,  very  gradually,  but  surely,  recovered.    One 
of  the  earliest  indications  of  his  reviving  interest  in  life. 

And  all  its  busy,  thronging  scenes, 

was  an  abrupt  enquiry  whether  Trinity  term  had  commenced, 
and  whether  or  not  he  was  now  eligible  to  be  called  to  the  bar. 
He  was  utterly  unconscious  that  three  terms  had  flitted  over 
him,  while  he  lay  in  the  gloomy  wilderness  of  insanity;  and 
when  I  satisfied  him  of  this  fact,  he  alluded,  with  a  sigh,  to  the 


THE  SPECTEE-SMITTEK. CHAPTEB  XVH.  275 

beautiful  thought  of  one  of  our  old  dramatists,  who,  illustrating 
the  unconscious  lapse  of  years  over  "  Endymion,"  makes  one  tell 
him — 

And  behold,  the  twig  to  which  thou  laidest  thy  head,  is  now  become  a 
tree !  * 

It  was  not  till  several  days  after  his  restoration  to  reason  that 
I  ventured  to  enter  into  any  thing  like  detailed  conversation 
with  him,  or  to  make  particular  allusions  to  his  late  illness ;  and 
on  this  occasion  it  was  that  he  related  to  me  his  rencontre  with 
the  fearful  object  which  had  overturned  his  reason ;  adding, 
with  intense  emotion,  that  not  ten  thousand  a-year  should  in- 
duce him  to  live  in  the  same  chambers  any  more. 

During  the  course  of  his  progress  towards  complete  recovery, 
memory  shot  its  strengthening  rays  further  and  further  back 

*  Endymion,  by  Jons  Lilly.  The  context  is  so  very  beautiful  that  I  am 
tempted  to  quote  it : — 

Cynthia.  Endymion  I  Speak,  sweet  Endymion !  Knowest  thou  not 
Cynthia  ? 

Endymion.  Oh,  Heaven!  what  do  I  behold?  'Fair  Cynthia?  Divine 
Cynthia  ? 

Cynthia.    I  am  Cynthia,  and  thou  Endymion. 

Endymion.  Endymion  I  >\Tiat  do  I  hear  ?  What !  a  grev  beard,  hollow 
eyes,  withered  body,  and  decayed  limbs — and  all  in  one  night? 

Eumenides.  One  night  I  Thou  hast  slept  here  forty  years,  by  what  en- 
chantress, as  yet  it  is  not  known  :  and  behold,  the  twig  to  which  thou  laidest 
thy  head,  Is  now  become  a  tree  I  Callest  thou  not  Eumenides  to  remem- 
brance? 

Endymion.  Thy  name  1  do  remember  by  the  sound,  but  thy  favour  I  do  not 
yet  call  to  mind :  only  divine  Cynthia,  to  whom  time,  fortune,  death,  and  des- 
tiny are  subject,  I  see  and  remember :  and,  in  aU  humility,  I  regard  and 
reverence. 

Cynthia.  Tou  shall  have  good  cause  to  remember  Eumenides,  who  hath,  for 
thy  safety,  forsaken  his  own  solace. 

Endymion.  Am  I  that  Endymion  who  was  wont  in  court  to  lead  my  life, 
and  in  justs,  tourneys,  and  arms  to  exercise  my  youth  ?  Am  I  that  Endy- 
mion? 

Eumenides.  Thou  art  that  Endymion,  and  I  Eumenides  I  Wilt  thou  not  yet 
call  me  to  remembrance  ? 

Endymion.  Ah,  sweet  Eumenides  I  I  now  perceive  thou  art  he,  and  that 
myself  have  the  name  of  Endymion ;  but  that  this  should  be  my  body,  1  doubt ; 
for  how  could  my  curled  locks  be  turned  to  grey  hair,  and  my  strong  body  to  a 
dying  weakness— having  waxed  old  not  knowing  it  ? 

Act  5th,  Scene  I. 


276  CIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

into  the  inspissated  gloom  in  which  the  long  interval  of  insanity 
had  shrouded  his  mind;  but  it  was  too  dense,  too  "palpable  an 
obscure,"  to  be  ever  completely  and  thoroughly  illuminated. 
The  rays  of  recollection,  however,  settled  distinctly  on  some 
of  the  more  prominent  points  ;  and  I  was  several  times  astonish- 
ed by  his  sudden  reference  to  things  which  he  had  said  and 
done  during  the  "  very  depth  and  quagmire  of  his  disorder."  * 
He  asked  me  once,  for  instance,  whether  he  had  not  made  an 
attempt  on  his  life,  and  with  a  razor,  and  how  it  was  that  he  did 
not  succeed.  He  had  no  recollection,  however,  of  the  long  and 
deadly  struggle  with  his  keeper — at  least  he  never  made  the 
slightest  allusion  to  it,  nor,  of  course,  did  any  one  else. 

"  I  don't  much  mind  talking  these  horrid  things  over  with 
you,  doctor,  for  you  know  all  the  ins  and  outs  of  the  whole  affair; 
but  if  any  of  my  friends  or  relatives  presume  to  torture  me  with 
any  allusions  or  enquiries  of  this  sort — I'll  fight  them  !  they'll 
drive  me  mad  ag'ain ! "  The  reader  may  suppose  the  hint  was  not 
disregarded.  All  recovered  maniacs  have  a  dread — an  absolute 
horror^of  any  reference  being  made  to  their  madness,  or  any 
thing  they  have  said  or  done  during  the  course  of  it ;  and  is  it 
not  easily  accounted  for  ? 

"  Did  the  horrible  spectre  which  occasioned  your  illness  in 
the  first  instance,  ever  present  itself  to  you  afterwards  ?"  I  once 
enquired.  He  paused  and  turned  pale.  Presently  he  replied, 
with  considerable  agitation — "  Yes,  yes — it  scarcely  ever  left 
me.  It  has  not  always  preserved  its  spectral  consistency,  but 
has  entered  into  the  most  astounding — the  most  preposterous 
combinations  conceivable,  with  other  objects  and  scenes — all  of 
them,  however,  more  or  less,  of  a  distressing  or  fearful  character 
— many  of  them  terrific  ! "  I  begged  him,  if  it  were  not  un- 
pleasant to  him,  to  give  me  a  specimen  of  them. 

"  It  is  certainly  far  from  gratifying  to  trace  scenes  of  such 
shame  and  horror ;  but  I  will  comply  as  far  as  I  am  able,"  said 
he,  rather  gloomily.  "Once  I  saw  him  "(meaning  the  spectre) 
"  leading  on  an  army  of  huge  speckled  and  crested  serpents 
against  me  ;  and  when  they  came  upon  me — for  I  had  no 

•  Sir  Thomas  Browne. 


THE  SPECTRE-SMITTEN. — CHAPTER  XVII.  277 

power  to  run  away — I  suddenly  found  myself  in  the  midst  of 
a  pool  of  stagnant  water,  absolutely  alive  with  slimy,  shape- 
less reptiles ;  and  while  endeavouring  to  make  my  way  out,  he 
rose  to  the  surface,  his  face  hissing  in  the  water,  and  blazing 
bright  as  ever  !  Again,  I  thought  I  saw  him  in  single  com- 
bat, by  the  gates  of  Eden,  with  Satan — and  the  air  thronged 
and  heated  with  swart  faces  looking  on  ! "  This  was  unques- 
tionably some  dim  confused  recollection  of  the  Milton  readings, 
in  the  earlier  part  of  his  illness.  "Again,  I  thought  I  was 
in  the  act  of  opening  my  snuff-box,  when  he  issued  from  it, 
diminutive,  at  first,  in  size — but  swelling  soon  into  gigantic 
proportions,  and  his  fiery  features  diffusing  a  light  and  heat 
around,  that  absolutely  scorched  and  blasted  !  At  another  time, 
I  thought  I  was  gazing  upwards  on  a  sultry  summer  sky ;  and, 
in  the  midst  of  a  luminous  fissure  in  it,  made  by  the  lightning, 
I  distinguished  his  accursed  figure,  with  his  glowing  features 
wearing  an  expression  of  horror,  and  his  limbs  outstretched,  as 
if  he  had  been  hurled  down  from  some  height  or  other,  and  was 
falling  through  the  sky  towards  me.  He  came — he  came— flung 
himself  into  my  recoiling  arms — and  clung  to  me — burning, 
scorching,  withering  my  soul  within  me  !  I  thought,  further, 
that  I  was  all  the  while  the  subject  of  strange,  paradoxical,  con- 
tradictory feelings  towards  him — that  I,  at  one  and  the  same 
time,  loved  and  loathed,  feared  and  despised  him!"  *  He  men- 
tioned several  other  instances  of  the  confusions  in  his  "  chamber 
of  imagery."     I  told  him  of  his  sudden  exclamation  concerning 

Mr  T 's  burial,  and  its  singular  corroboration  ;  but  he  either 

did  not,  or  affected  not,  to  recollect  any  thing  about  it.  He  told 
me  he  had  a  full  and  distinct  recollection  of  being  for  a  long 
time  possessed  with  the  notion  of  making  himself  a  "  sacrifice" 
of  some  sort  or  other,  and  that  he  was  seduced  or  goaded  on  to 
do  so  b}'  the  spectre,  by  the  most  dazzling  temptations,  and 
under  the  most  appalling  threats — one  of  which  latter  was,  that 
God  would  plunge  him  into  hell  for  ever,  if  he  did  not  offer  up 
himself — that  if  he  did  so,  he  should  be  a  sublime  spectacle  to 
the  universe,  &c.  &c.  &c. 


*  A  very  curious  case  has  been  handed  to  me,  corroboratory  of  this  strange 
condition  of  feeling ;  but  1  am  not  allowed  to  make  it  puljlic. 


278  DIAET  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

"  Do  you  recollect  any  thing  about  dictating  a  novel  or  a  ' 
romance  ?"  He  started,  as  if  struck  with  some  sudden  recollec- 
tion. "No — but  I'll' tell  you  what  I  recollect  well — that  the 
spectre  and  I  were  set  to  copy  all  the  tales  and  romances  that 
ever  had  been  written,  in  a  large,  bold,  round  hand,  and  then 
translate  them  into  Greek  or  Latin  verse  ! "  He  smiled,  nay, 
even  laughed  at  the  thought,  almost  the  first  time  of  his  giving 
way  to  such  emotions  since  his  recovery.  He  added,  that  as  to 
the  latter,  the  idea  of  the  utter  hopelessness  of  ever  getting 
through  such  a  stupendous  imdertaking  never  once  presented 
itself  to  him,  and  that  he  should  have  gone  on  with  it,  but  that 
he  lost  his  inkstand  ! 

"  Had  you  ever  a  clear  and  distinct  idea  that  you  had  lost  the 
right  use  of  reason  ?  " 

"  Why,  about  that,  to  tell  the  truth,  I've  been  puzzling  myself 
a  good  deal,  and  yet  I  cannot  say  any  thing  decisive.  I  do  fancy 
that,  at  times,  I  had  short,  transient  glimpses  into  the  real  state 
of  things,  but  they  were  so  evanescent.  I  am  conscious  of  feel- 
ing, at  these  times,  incessant  fury,  arising  from  a  sense  of 
personal  constraint,  and  I  longed  once  to  strangle  some  one  who 
was  giving  me  medicine." 

But  one  of  the  most  singular  of  all  is  yet  to  come.  He  still 
persisted — yes,  then — after  his  complete  recovery,  as  we  supposed, 
in  avowing  his  belief  that  we  had  hired  a  huge  boa  serpent  from 
Exeter  'Change  to  come  and  keep  constant  watch  over  him,  to 
constrain  his  movements  when  he  threatened  to  become  violent ; 
that  it  lay  constantly  coiled  up  under  his  bed  for  that  purpose ; 
that  he  could  now  and  then  feel  the  motions — the  writhing  undu- 
lating motions  of  its  coils — hear  it  utter  a  sort  of  sigh,  and  see 
it  often  elevate  its  head  over  the  bed,  and  play  with  its  slippery, 
delicate,  forked  tongue,  over  his  face,  to  soothe  him  to  sleep. 

When  poor  M ,  with  a  serious,  earnest  air,  assured  me  he 

STILL  believed  all  this,  my  hopes  of  his  complete  and  final  resto- 
ration to  sanity  were  dashed  at  once !  How  such  an  absurd — 
in  short,  I  have  no  terms  in  which  I  may  adequately  characterize 
it — how,  I  say,  such  an  idea  could  possibly  be  persisted  in,  I  was 
bewildered  in  attempting  to  conceive.  I  frequently  strove  to 
reason  him  out  of  it,  but  in  vain    To  no  purpose  did  I  burlesque 


THE  MAKTTR  PUILOSOPHER. CHAPTER  XVIII.  279 

and  caricature  the  notion  almost  beyond  all  bounds ;  it  was  useless 
to  remind  him  of  the  blank  impossibility  of  it ;  he  regarded  me 
with  such  a  face  as  I  should  exhibit  to  a  fluent  personage,  quite 
in  earnest  in  demonstrating  to  me  that  the  moon  was  made  of 
green  cheese. 

I  have  once  before  heard  of  a  patient  who,  after  recovering 
from  an  attack  of  insanity,  retained  one  solitary  crotchet — one 
little  stain  or  speck  of  lunacy — about  which,  and  which  alone, 
he  was  mad  to  the  end  of  his  life.     I  supposed  such  to  be  the 

case  with  M .     It  was  possible — barely  so,  I  thought — that 

he  might  entertain  the  preposterous  notion  about  the  boa,  and 
yet  be  sound  in  the  general  texture  of  his  mind.  I  prayed  God 
it  might ;  I  "  hoped  against  hope."  The  last  evening  I  ever 
spent  with  him  was  occupied  with  my  endeavouring,  once  for 
all,  to  disabuse  him  of  the  idea  in  question  ;  and,  in  the  course 
of  our  conversation,  he  disclosed  one  or  two  little  symptoms, 
specks  of  lunacy,  which  made  me  leave  him,  filled  with  disheart- 
ening doubts  as  to  the  probability  of  a  permanent  recovery. 
****** 

My  worst  fears  were  awfully  realized.     In  about  five  years 

from  the  period  above  alluded  to,  M ,  who  had  got  married, 

and  had  enjoyed  excellent  general  health,  was  spending  the  sum- 
mer with  his  family  at  Brussels — and  one  night  destroyed  himself 
— alas !  alas !  destroyed  himself  in  a  manner  too  terrible  to  mention ! 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


THE  MIRTYK  PHILOSOPHER. 


It  has  been  my  lot  to  witness  many  dreadful  deathbeds.  I 
am  not  overstating  the  truth  when  I  assert,  that  nearly  eight  out 
of  every  ten  that  have  come  under  my  personal  observation — of 
course,  excluding  children — have  more  or  less  partaken  of  this 
character.  I  know  only  one  way  of  accounting  for  it,  and  some 
may  accuse  me  of  cant  for  adverting  to  it — men  will  not  mve  as 


280  DIARY  OP  A  LATK  PHYSICIAN. 

if  they  were  to  die.  They  are  content  to  let  that  event  come 
upon  them  "  like  a  thief  in  the  night."  *  They  grapple  with 
their  final  foe,  not  merely  unprepared,  but  absolutely  incapacitated 
for  the  struggle,  and  then  wonder  and  wail  at  their  being  over- 
come and  "  trodden  under  foot."  I  have,  in  some  of  the  fore- 
going chapters,  attempted  to  sketch  three  or  four  dreary  scenes  of 
this  description,  my  pencil  trembling  in  my  hand  the  while; 
and  could  I  but  command  colours  dark  enough,  it  were  yet  in 
my  power  to  portray  others  far  more  appalling  than  any  that  have 
gone  before — cases  of  those  who  have  left  life  "  clad  in  horror's 
hideous  robe" — ^^  whose  sun  has  gone  down  at  noon  in  darkness" 
if  I  may  be  pardoned  for  quoting  the  fearful  language  of  a  very 
unfashionable  book. 

Now,  however,  for  a  while  at  least,  let  the  storm  pass  away ; 
the  accumulq,ted  clouds  of  guilt,  despair,  madness,  disperse ;  and 
the  lightning  of  the  fiercer  passions  cease  to  shed  its  disastrous 
glare  over  our  minds.  Let  us  rejoice  beneath  the  serened 
heavens ;  let  us  seek  sunnier  spots — by  turning  to  the  more 
peaceful  pages  of  humanity.  Let  me  attempt  to  lay  before  the 
reader  a  short  account  of  one  whose  exit  was  eminently  calm, 
tranquil,  and  dignified  ;  who  did  not  skulk  into  his  grave  with 
shame  and  fear,  but  laid  down  life  with  honour ;  leaving  behind 
him  the  influence  of  his  greatness  and  goodness,  like  the  even- 
ing sun — who  smUes  sadly  on  the  sweet  scenes  he  is  quitting, 
and  a  holy  lustre  glows  long  on  the  features  of  nature — 

Quiet,  as  a  nun 
Breathless  with  adoration. — Wordsworth. 


Even  were  I  disposed,  I  could  not  gratify  the  reader  with  any 

thing  like  a  fair  sketch  of  the  early  days  of  Mr  E .    I  have 

often  lamented,  that,  knowing  as  I  did  the  simplicity  and  frank- 
ness of  his  disposition,  I  did  not  once  avail  myself  of  several 
opportunities  which  fell  in  my  way  of  becoming  acquainted  with 

*  One  of  my  patients,  whom  a  long  course  of  profligacy  had  hrought  to  a  pain- 
ful and  premature  deathbed,  once  quoted  this  striking  Scriptural  expression 
when  within  less  than  an  hour  of  his  end,  and  with  a  thrUl  of  terror. 


THE  MARTYR  PHILOSOPHER. — CHAPTER  XVIII.  281 

the  leading  particulars  of  his  life.  Now,  however,  as  is  generally 
the  case,  I  can  but  deplore  my  negligence,  when  remedying  it  is 
impossible.  All  that  I  have  now  in  my  power  to  record,  are 
some  particulars  of  his  latter  days.  Interesting  I  know  they 
will  be  considered  :  may  they  prove  instructive !  I  hope  the  few 
records  I  have  here  preserved,  will  show  how  a  mind,  long  dis- 
ciplined by  philosophy,  and  strengthened  by  religious  principle, 
may  triumph  over  the  assault  of  evils  and  misfortunes  combined 
against   its  expiring  energies.     It  is  fitting,  I  say,  the  world 

should  hear  how  nobly  E surmounted  such  a  sudden  influx 

of  disasters  as  have  seldom  before  burst  overwhelmingly  upon  a 
deathbed. 

And  should  this  chapter  of  my  Diary  chance  to  be  seen  by 
any  of  his  relatives  and  early  friends,  I  hope  the  reception  it 
shall  meet  with  from  the  public,  may  stimulate  them  to  give  the 

world  some  fuller  particulars  of  Mr  E 's  valuable,  if  not 

very  varied  life.  More  than  seven  years  have  elapsed  since  his 
death ;  and,  as  yet,  the  only  intimation  the  public  has  had  of  the 
event,  has  been  in  the  dreary  corner  of  the  public  prints  allotted 
to  "  Deaths  " — and  a  brief  enumeration  in  one  of  the  quarterly 
journals  of  some  of  his  leading  contributions  to  science.  The 
world  at  large,  however,  scarcely  know  that  he  ever  lived — or, 
at  least,  how  he  lived  or  died. — But  how  often  is  such  the  fate 
of  modest  merit ! 

My  first  acquaintance  with  Mr  E commenced  accident' 

ally,  not  long  before  his  death,  at  one  of  the  evening  meetings 
of  a  learned  society,  of  which  we  were  both  members.  The 
first  glimpse  I  caught  of  him  interested  me  much,  and  inspired 
me  with  a  kind  of  reverence  for  him.  He  came  into  the  room 
within  a  few  minutes  of  the  chair's  being  taken,*  and  walked 
quietly  and  slowly,  with  a  kind  of  stooping  gait,  to  one  of  the 
benches  near  the  fireplace,  where  he  sat  down  vrithout  taking 
off  his  great-coat,  and,  crossing  his  gloved  hands  on  the  knob  of 
a  high  walking-stick,  he  rested  his  chin  on  them,  and  in  that 
attitude  continued  throughout  the  evening.  He  removed  his 
hat  when  the  chairman  made  his  appearance ;  and  I  never  saw 

*  "  Les  soci6tes  savantes  en  Angleterre  sont  regies  paries  m&meslois  d' etiquette 
que  les  soci^t^s  politiques." —  Note  by  the  French  Tranelator. 


282  DIAET  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

a  finer  head  in  my  life.  The  crown  was  quite  hald,  but  the  base 
was  fringed  round,  as  it  were,  with  a  little  soft,  glossy,  sUver- 
hued  hair,  which  in  the  distance  looked  like  a  faint  halo.  His 
forehead  was  of  noble  proportions ;  and,  in  short,  there  was  an 
expression  of  serene  intelligence  in  his  features,  blended  with 
meekness  and  dignity,  which  quite  enchanted  me. 

"Pray,  who  is  that  gentleman?"  I  enquired  of  my  friend  Dr 

D ,  who  was  sitting  beside  me.    "  Do  you  mean  that  elderly 

thin  man,  sitting  near  the  fireplace,  with  a  great-coat  on?" — 

"  The  same. " — "  Oh !  it  is  Mr  E ,  one  of  the  very  ablest 

men  in  the  room,  though  he  talks  the  least,"  whispered  my 
friend ;  "  and  a  man  who  comes  the  nearest  to  my  beau-ideal 
of  a  philosopher  of  any  man  I  ever  knew  or  heard  of  in  the  pre- 
sent day." 

"Why,  he  does  not  seem  very  well  known  here,"  said  I, 
observing  that  he  neither  spoke  to,  nor  was  spoken  to,  by  any  of 

the  members  present.     "Ah,  poor  Mr  E is  breaking  up, 

I'm  afraid,  and  that  very  fast, "  replied  my  friend  with  a  sigh. 
"  He  comes  but  seldom  to  our  evening  meetings,  and  is  not 
ambitious  of  making  many  acquaintance."  I  intimated  an  eager 
desire  to  be  introduced  to  him.  "  Oh,  nothing  easier,"  replied 
my  friend ;  "  for  I  know  him  more  familiarly  than  any  one  pre- 
sent, and  he  is,  besides,  simple  as  a  child  in  his  manners,  even  to 
eccentricity,  and  the  most  amiable  man  in  the  world.  I'll  intro- 
duce you  when  the  meeting's  over."  While  we  were  thus 
whispering  together,  the  subject  of  our  conversation  suddenly 
rose  from  his  seat,  and,  with  a  little  trepidation  of  manner, 
addressed  a  few  words  to  the  chair,  in  correction  of  some  asser- 
tions which  he  interrupted  a  member  in  advancing.  It  was 
something,  if  I  recollect  right,  about  the  atomic  theory,  and  was 
received  with  marked  deference  by  the  president,  and  general 
"  Hear !  hears ! "  from  the  members.  He  then  resumed  his  seat, 
in  which  he  was  presently  followed  by  the  speaker,  whom  he  had 
evidently  discomfited ;  his  eyes  glistened,  and  his  cheeks  were 
flushed  with  the  effort  he  had  made,  and  he  did  not  rise  again 
till  the  conclusion  of  the  sitting.  We  then  made  our  way  to 
him,  and  my  friend  introduced  me.  He  received  me  politely  and 
frankly.    He  complained,  in  a  weak  voice,  that  the  walk  thither 


THE  MARTYR  PHILOSOPHER. CHAPTER  XVIII.  283 

had  quite  exhausted  him — that  he  feared  his  heahh  was  failing 
him,  &c. 

"  Why,  Mr  E ,  you  looh  very  well, "  said  my  friend. 

"  Ay,  perhaps  I  do ;  but  you  know  how  little  faith  is  to  be 
put  in  the  hale  looks  of  an  old  and  weak  man.  Age  generally 
puts  a  good  face  on  bad  matters,  even  to  the  last,"  he  added  with 
a  smile  and  a  shake  of  the  head. 

"  A  sad  night ! "  he  exclaimed,  on  hearing  the  wind  howling 
drearily  without,  for  we  were  standing  by  a  window  at  the  north- 
east corner  of  the  large  building;  and  a  March  wind  swept 
cruelly  by,  telling  bitter  things  to  the  old  and  feeble  who  had  to 
face  it.  "  Allow  me  to  recommend  that  you  wrap  up  your  neck 
and  breast  well,"  said  I. 

"  I  intend  it,  indeed,"  he  replied,  as  he  was  folding  up  a  large 
silk  handkerchief.  "  One  must  guard  one's  candle  with  one's 
hand,  or  Death  will  blow  it  out  in  a  moment.  That's  the  sort 
of  treatment  we  old  people  get  from  him ;  no  ceremony — he  waits 
for  one  at  a  bleak  corner,  and  puffs  out  one's  expiring  light  with 
a  breath ;  and  then  hastens  on  to  the  more  vigorous  torch  of 
youth." 

"  Have  you  a  coach  ? "  enquired  Dr  D .     "  A  coach  !  I 

shall  walk  it  in  less  than  twenty  minutes,"  said  Mr  E ,  but- 
toning his  coat  up  to  the  chin. 

"  Allow  me  to  offer  you  both  a  seat  in  mine,"  said  I ;  "it  is 
at  the  door,  and  I  am  driving  towards  your  neighbourhood."  He 

and  Dr  D accepted  the  offer,  and  in  a  few  minutes'  time  we 

entered  and  drove  off.  We  soon  set  down  the  latter,  who  lived 
close  by  ;  and  then  my  new  philosophic  friend  and  I  were  left 
together.  Our  conversation  turned,  for  a  while,  on  the  evening's 
discussion  at  the  society  ;  and,  in  a  very  few  words,  remarkably 
well  chosen,  he  pointed  out  what  he  considered  to  have  been 

errors  committed  by  Sir and  Dr ,  the  principal  speakers. 

I  was  not  more  charmed  by  the  lucidness  of  his  views,  than  by 
the  unaffected  diffidence  with  which  they  were  expressed. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  after  a  little  pause  in  our  conversation,  "  your 
carriage  motion  is  mighty  pleasant !  It  seduces  one  into  a  feel- 
ing of  indolence  !  these  delicious,  soft,  yielding  cushioned  backs 
and  seats — they  would  make  a  man  loath  to  use  his  legs  again  ] 


284  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

Yet  I  never  kept  a  carriage  in  my  life,  though  I  have  often 
wanted  one,  and  could  easily  have  afforded  it  once."  I  asked 
him  vrhy  ?  He  replied,  "  It  vt^as  not  because  he  feared  childish 
accusations  of  ostentation,  nor  yet  in  order  to  save  money,  but 
because  he  thought  it  becoming  to  a  rational  being  to  be  content 
with  the  natural  means  God  has  given  him,  both  as  to  matter  of 
necessity  and  pleasure.  It  was  an  insult,"  he  said,  "  to  Nature 
while  she  was  in  full  vigour,  and  had  exhibited  little  or  no  defi- 
ciency in  her  functions — to  hurry  to  Art  For  my  own  part," 
he  continued,  "  I  have  always  found  a  quiet  but  exquisite  satis- 
faction, in  continuing  independent  of  her  assistance,  though  at 
the  cost  of  some  occasional  inconvenience  :  it  gives  you  a  con- 
sciousness of  relying  incessantly  on  Him  who  made  you,  and 
sustains  you  in  being.  Do  you  recollect  the  solemn  saying  of 
Johnson  to  Garrick,  on  seeing  the  immense  levies  the  latter  had 
made  on  the  resources  of  ostentatious,  ornamental  art  ?  '  Davie, 
Davie,  these  are  the  things  that  make  a  deathbed  terrible  ! '  "  I 
said  something  about  Diogenes.  "  Ah  ! "  he  replied  quickly, 
"  the  other  extreme.  He  accused  nature  of  superfluity,  redun- 
dancy. A  proper  subordination  of  externals  to  her  use  is  part 
of  her  province ;  else  why  is  she  placed  among  so  many  materials, 
and  with  such  facilities  of  using  them  ?  My  principle,  if  such 
it  may  be  called,  is,  that  art  may  minister  to  nature,  but  not 
pamper  or  surfeit  her  with  superfluities. 

"  You  would  laugh,  perhaps,  to  come  to  my  house,  and  see  the 
extent  to  which  I  have  carried  my  principles  into  practice.  I— 
yes,  I — whose  life  has  been  devoted,  among  other  things,  to  the 
discovery  of  mechanical  contrivances  !  You,  accustomed,  per- 
haps, to  the  elegant  redundancies  of  these  times,  may  consider  my 
house  and  furniture  absurdly  plain  and  naked — a  tree  stripped 
of  its  leaves,  where  the  birds  are  left  to  lodge  on  the  bare  branches ! 
But  I  want  little,  and  do  not  'want  that  little  long.'— Stop, 
however,  here  is  my  house  !  Come — a  laugh,  you  know,  is  good 
before  bed — will  you  have  it  now  ?  Come,  see  a  curiosity— a 
Diogenes,  but  no  Cynic  ! "     Had  the  reader  seen  the  modesty, 

the  cheerfulness,  the  calmness  of  manner  with  which  Mr  E 1 

from  time  to  time,  joined  in  the  conversation,  of  which  the  above 
is  the  substance,  and  been  aware  of  the  weight  due  to  his  senti- 


THE  MARTYR  PUILOSOPHEB. CHAPTER  XVni.      285 

ments,  as  those  of  one  who  had  really  lived  up  to  them  all  his 
life — who  had  earned  a  noble  character  in  the  philosophical 
world — if  he  be  aware  how  often  old  age  and  pedantry,  grounded 
on  a  small  reputation,  are  blended  in  repulsive  union — he  might 
not  consider  the  trouble  I  have  taken  thrown  away,  in  recording 

this  my  first  conversation  with  Mr  E .     He  was,  indeed,  an 

instance  of  "  philosophy  teaching  by  example  ;"  a  sort  of  cha- 
racter to  be  sought  out  for  in  life,  as  one  at  whose  feet  we  may 
safely  sit  down  and  learn. 

I  could  not  accept  of  Mr  E 's  invitation  that  evening,  as 

I  had  a  patient  to  see  a  little  further  on  ;  but  I  promised  him  an 
early  call.     All  my  way  home  my  mind  was  filled  with   the 

image  of  E ,  and  partook  of  the  tranquillity  and  pensiveness 

of  its  guest. 

I  scarcely  know  how  it  was,  but,  with  all  my  admiration  of 

Mr  E ,  I  suflfered  the  month  of  May  to  approach  its  close 

before  I  again  encountered  him.  It  was  partly  owing  to  a 
sudden  increase  of  business,  created  by  a  raging  scarlet  fever, 
and  partly  occasioned  by  illness  in  my  own  family.  I  often 
thought  and  talked,  however,  of  the  philosopher,  for  that  was 

the  name  he  went  by  with  Dr  D and  myself.     Mr  E 

had  invited  us  both  to  take  "  an  old-fashioned  friendly  cup  of 
tea"  with  him ;  and  accordingly,  about  six  o'clock,  we  found 

ourselves  driving  down  to  his  house.     On  our  way,  Dr  D 

told  me  that  our  friend  had  been  a  widower  nearly  five  years ; 
and  that  the  loss,  somewhat  sudden,  of  his  amiable  and  accom- 
plished wife,  had  worked  a  great  change  in  him,  by  divesting 
him  of  nearly  all  interest  in  life  or  its  concerns.  He  pursued 
even  his  philosophical  occupations  with  languor — more  from  a 
kind  of  habit  than  inclination.  Still  he  retained  the  same  even- 
ness and  cheerfulness  which  had  distinguished  him  through 
life.  But  the  blow  had  been  struck  which  had  severed  him 
from  the  world's  joys  and  engagements.  He  might  be  com- 
pared to  a  great  tree  torn  up  by  the  root,  and  laid  prostrate  by 
a  storm,  yet  which  dies  not  all  at  once.  The  sap  is  not  instan- 
taneously dried  up ;  but  for  weeks,  or  even  months,  you  may 
see  the  smaller  branches  still  shooting  unconsciously  into  short- 
lived existence    aU  fresh  and  tender  from  the  womb  of  their 


286  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

dead  mother;  and  a  rich  green  mantle  of  leaves  long  coneealinff 
from  view  the  poor  fallen  trunk  beneath.  Such  vras  the  pen- 
sive turn  my  thoughts  had  taken  by  the  time  we  had  reached 
Mr  E 's  door. 

It  was  a  fine  summer  evening — the  hour  of  calm  excitement. 
The  old-fashioned  window-panes  of  the  house  we  had  stopped 
at,  shone  like  small  sheets  of  fire  in  the  steady  slanting  rays  of 
the  retiring  sun.  It  was  the  first  house  of  a  respectable  antique- 
looking  row,  in  the  suburbs  of  London,  which  had  been  built  in 
the  days  of  Henry  the  Eighth.  Three  stately  poplars  stood 
sentries  before  the  gateway. 

"  Well,  here  we  are  at  last,  at  Plato's  Porch,  as  I've  chris- 
tened it,"  said  Dr  D ,  knocking  at  the  door.     On  entering 

the  parlour — a  large  old-fashioned  room,  furnished  with  the 

utmost  simplicity  consistent  with  comfort — we  found  Mr  E 

sitting  near  the  window,  reading.  He  was  in  a  brown  dressing- 
gown,  and  study  cap.  He  rose  and  welcomed  us  cheerfully. 
"  I  have  been  looking  into  La  Place,"  said  he,  in  the  first  pause 
which  ensued,  "  and,  a  little  before  your  arrival,  had  flattered 
myself  that  I  had  detected  some  erroneous  calculations;  and 
only  look  at  the  quantity  of  evidence  that  was  necessary  to  con- 
vince me  that  I  was  a  simpleton  by  the  side  of  La  Place!" 
pointing  to  two  or  three  sheets  of  paper  crammed  with  small 
algebraical  characters  in  pencil — a  fearful  array  of  symbols — 
"  y/  fi  a^,  D  i|  +  9  —  «  =  9 ;  «  X  log.  e"— and 
sines,  co-sines,  series,  &c.,  without  end.  I  had  the  curiosity  to 
take  up  the  volume  in  question  while  he  was  speaking  to  Dr 
D ,  and  noticed  on  the  fly-leaf  the  complimentary  auto- 
graph of  the  Marquis  La  Place,  who  bad  sent  his  work  to  Mr 

E .     Tea  was  presently  brought  in ;  and  as  soon  as  the 

plain  old-fashioned  china,  &c.,  had  been  placed  on  the  table  by 
the  man-servant — himself  a  knowing  old  fellow  as  I  ever  saw 

in  my  life — Miss   E ,  the  philosopher's  niece,  made  her 

appearance — an  elegant,  unaffected  girl,  with  the  same  style  of 
features  as  her  uncle. 

"  I  can  give  a  shrewd  guess  at  your  thoughts,  Dr ,"  said 

Mr  E smiling,  as  he  caught  my  eye  following  the  move- 
ments of  the  man-servant  till  he  left  the  room.     "  You  fancy 


TILE  MABTTR  PHILOSOPHER. — CHAPTER  XVin.  287 

my  keeping  a  man-servant  to  wait  at  table  does  not  tally  verv 
vrell  with  what  I  said  the  last  time  I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
you." 

"  O  dear !    I'm  sure  you're  mistaken,  Mr  E .     I  was 

struck  with  the  singularity  of  his  countenance  and  manners — 
those  of  a  stanch  old  family  servant." 

"  Ah,  Joseph  is  a  vast  favourite  with  my  uncle  ! "  said  Miss 

E ,  "  I  can  assure  you,  and  fancies  himself  nearly  as  great  a 

man  as  his  master." 

"  Why,  as  far  as  the  pratique  of  the  laboratory  is  concerned, 
I  doubt  if  his  superior  is  to  be  found  in  London.  He  knows  it, 
and  all  my  ways,  as  well  as  he  knows  the  palm  of  his  own 
hand !  He  has  the  neatest  way  in  the  world  of  making  hydro- 
gen gas,  and,  what  is  more,  found  it  out  himself,"  said  Mr 

E ,  explaining  the  process ;  "  and  then  he  is  a  miracle  of 

cleanliness  and  care !  He  has  not  cost  me  ten  shillings  in 
breakage  since  I  knew  him.  He  moves  among  my  brittle 
wares  like  a  cat  on  a  glass  wall." 

"  And  then  he  writes  and  reads  for  my  uncle — does  all  the 
minor  work  of  the  laboratory — goes  on  errands — waits  at  table 
— in  short,  he's  invaluable,"  said  Miss  E . 

"  Quite  sl  factotum,  I  protest !"  exclaimed  Dr  D . 

"  You'd  lose  your  better  half,  then,  if  he  were  to  die,  I  sup- 
pose," said  I  quickly. 

"  No  !  that  can  happen  but  once"  replied  Mr  E ,  alluding 

to  the  death  of  his  wife.  Conversation  flagged  for  a  moment. 
"  You've  forgotten,"  at  length  said  E ,  breaking  the  melan- 
choly pause,  "  the  very  chiefest  of  poor  Joseph's  accomplish- 
ments— What  an  admirable,  unwearied  nurse  he  is  to  me!" 
At  that  moment  Joseph  entered  the  room,  with  a  note  in  his 

hand,  which  he  gave  to  Mr  E .     I  guessed  where  it  came 

from,  for,  happening  a  few  moments  before,  to  cast  my  eye  to 
the  window,  I  saw  a  footman  walking  up  to  the  door ;  and  there 
was  no  mistaking  the  gorgeous  scarlet  liveries  of  the  Duke  of 

.     E ,   after  glancing  over  the   letter,  begged   us  to 

excuse  him  for  a  minute  or  two,  as  the  man  was  waiting  for  an 
answer. 

"  You,  of  course,  knew  what  my  uncle  alluded  to,"  said  Miss 


288  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

E ,  addressing  Dr  D in  a  low  tone,  as  soon  as  E 

had  closed  the  door  after  him,  "  when  he  spoke  of  Joseph's  being 

a  nurse — don't  you  ?  "    Dr  D nodded.     "  My  poor  uncle," 

she  continued,  addressing  me,  "  has  been,  for  nearly  twenty-Jive 
years,  afflicted  with  a  dreadful  disease  in  the  spine ;  and,  during 
all  that  time,  he  has  suffered  a  perfect  martyrdom  from  it.  He 
coidd  not  stand  straight  up  if  it  were  to  save  his  life,  and  he  is 
obliged  to  sleep  in  a  bed  of  a  very  curious  description — the  joint 
contrivance  of  himself  and  Joseph.  He  takes  nearly  half  an 
ounce  of  laudanum  every  night,  at  bedtime  ;  without  which,  the 
pains,  which  are  always  most  excruciating  at  night-time,  would 
not  suffer  him  to  get  a  moment's  sleep  ! — Oh,  how  often  have  I 
seen  him  rolling  about  on  this  carpet  and  hearth-rug — yes,  even 
in  the  presence  of  visiters — in  a  perfect  ecstasy  of  agony,  and 
uttering  the  most  heart-breaking  groans  ! " 

"  And  I  can  add,"  said  Dr  D ,  "  that  he  is  the  most  per- 
fect Job — the  most  angelic  sufferer  I  ever  saw  !" 

"  Indeed,  indeed,  he  is !"  rejoined  Miss  E with  emotion. 

"  I  can  say,  with  perfect  truth,  that  I  never  once  heard  him 
murmur  or  complain  at  his  hard  fate.  When  I  have  been  express- 
ing my  sympathies,  during  the  extremity  of  his  anguish,  he  has 

gasped,  '  Well,  well,  it  might  have  been  worse  ! '  " — Miss  E 

suddenly  raised  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  for  they  were  over- 
flowing. 

"  Do  you  see  that  beautiful  little  picture  hanging  over  the 
mantelpiece?"  she  enquired,  after  a  pause,  which  neither  Dr 

D nor  I  seemed   inclined  to  interrupt — pointing   to  an 

exquisite  oil-painting  of  the  crucifixion.  "  I  have  seen  my  poor 
uncle  lying  down  on  the  floor,  while  in  the  most  violent  par- 
oxysms of  pain,  and,  with  his  eyes  fixed  intensely  on  that  picture, 
exclaim — '  Thine  were  greater — thine  were  greater  ! '  And  then 
he  has  presently  clasped  his  hands  upwards ;  a  smile  has  beamed 
upon  his  pallid  quivering  features,  and  he  has  told  me  the  pain 
was  abated." 

"  I  once  was  present  during  one  of  these  painfully  interesting 

scenes,"  said  Dr  D ,  "  and  have  seen  such  a  heavenly  radiance 

on  his  countenance,  as  could  not  have  been  occasioned  by  the 
mere  sudden  cessation  of  the  anguish  he  had  been  suffering. 


THE  MARTYR  PHILOSOPHER. CHAPTER  XVIII.  289 

"  Does  not  this  strange  disorder  abate  with  his  increasing 
years  ?"  I  enquired. 

"  Alas,  no  !"  replied  Miss  E ;  "  but  is,  if  possible,  more 

frequent  and  severe  in  its  seizures.  Indeed,  we  all  think  it  is 
wearing  him  out  fast.  But  for  the  unwearied  services  of  that 
faithful  creature,  Joseph,  who  sleeps  in  the  same  room  with  him, 
my  uncle  must  have  died  long  ago." 

"  How  did  this  terrible  disorder  attack  Mr  E ,  and  when  ?  " 

I  enquired.  I  was  informed  that  he  himself  originated  the  com- 
plaint with  an  injury  he  sustained  when  a  very  young  man  :  he 
was  riding,  one  day,  on  horseback,  and  his  horse,  suddenly  rear- 
ing backward,  Mr  E 's  back  came  in  violent  contact  with  a 

plank,  projecting  from  behind  a  cart  loaded  with  timber.  He  was 
besides,  however,  subject  to  a  constitutional  feebleness  in  the 
spine,  derived  from  his  father  and  grandfather.  He  had  con- 
sulted almost  every  surgeon  of  eminence  in  England,  and  a  few 
on  the  continent ;  and  spent  a  little  fortune  among  them — ^but 
all  had  been  in  vain. 

"  Really,  you  would  be  quite  surprized,  Doctor  ,"  said 

Miss  E ,  "  to  know,  that,  though  such  a  martyr  to  pain,  and 

now  in  his  sixty-fourth  year,  my  uncle  is  more  active  in  his 
habits,  and  regular  in  his  hours,  than  I  ever  knew  any  one.  He 
rises  almost  invariably  at  four  o'clock  in  summer,  and  at  six 
in  winter — and  this  though  so  helpless,  that,  without  Joseph's 
assistance,  he  could  not  dress  himself" 

"Ah!  by  the  way,"  interrupted  Dr  D ,  "  that  is  another 

peculiarity  in  Mr  E 's  case  :  he  is  subject  to  a  sort  of  nightly 

paralysis  of  the  upper  extremities,  from  which  he  does  not  com- 
pletely recover  till  he  has  been  up  for  some  two  or  three  hours  " 

How  little  had  I  thought  of  the  under  current  of  agony  flow- 
ing incessantly  beneath  the  calm  surface  of  his  cheerful  and 
dignified  demeanour!  O  philosophy! — O  Christian  philosophy! 
— I  had  failed  to  detect  any  marks  of  sufiering  in  his  features, 
though  I  had  now  had  two  interviews  with  him — so  completely, 
even  hitherto,  had  "his  unconquerable  mind  conquered  the 
clay" — as  one  of  our  old  writers  expresses  it.     If  I  had  admired 

and  respected  him  heretofore,  on  the  ground  of  Dr  D 's 

opinion,  how  did  I  now  feel  disposed  to  adore  him !   I  looked  on 

1  T 


290  DIAET  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

him  as  an  instance  of  long-tried  heroism  and  fortitude,  almost 
unparalleled  in  the  history  of  man.  Such  thoughts  -were  pass- 
ing through  my  mind,  when  Mr  E re-entered  the  room. 

What  I  had  heard  during  his  absence,  made  me  now  look  on 
him  with  tenfold  interest.  I  wondered  that  I  had  overlooked 
liis  stoop— and  the  permanent  print  of  pain  on  his  paUid  cheek. 
I  gazed  at  him,  in  short,  with  feelings  of  sympathy  and  rever- 
ence, akin  to  those  called  forth  by  a  picture  of  one  of  the  ancient 
martyrs. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  have  been  deprived  of  your  company  so  long," 
said  he;  "but  I  have  had  to  answer  an  invitation,  and  several 
questions  besides,  from 1  daresay  you  know  whom?"  ad- 
dressing Dr  D . 

"  I  can  guess,  on  the  principle  ex  ungue the  gaudy  livery 

'  vaunts  of  royalty' — eh  ?     Is  it ?" 

"  Yes.     He  has  invited  me  to  dine  with  Lord ,  Sir , 

and  several  other  members  of  the Society,  at ,  this  day 

week,  but  I  have  declined.  At  my  time  of  life,  I  can't  stand 
late  hours  and  excitement.  Besides,  one  must  learn  betimes  to 
wean  from  the  world,  or  be  suddenly  snatched  from  it  screaming 
like  a  child,"  said  Mr  E ,  with  an  impressive  air. 

"I  believe  you  are  particularly  intimate  with ;  at  least 

I  have  heard  so.     Are  you  ?  "  enquired  Dr  D . 

"  No.     I  might  possibly  have  been  so,  for has  shown 

great  consideration  towards  me ;  but  I  can  assure  you,  I  am  the 
sought,  rather  than  the  seeker,  and  have  been  all  my  life." 

"  It  is  often  fatal  to  philosophical  independence  to  approach  too 
frequently,  and  too  nearly,  the  magic  circle  of  the  court,"  said  I. 

"True.  Science  is,  and  should  be,  aspiring.  So  is  the  eagle; 
but  the  royal  bird  never  approaches  so  near  the  sun  as  to  be 

drowned  in  its  blaze.     Q, has  been  nothing  since  he  became 

a  courtier."     *     *     *     * 

"  What  do  you  think  of 's  pretensions  to  science,  gen- 
erally, and  his  motives  for  seeking  so  anxiously  the  intimacy 
of  the  learned?"  enquired  Dr  D . 

"  Why,  ,"  replied  E ,  with  some  hesitation,  "  'tis  a 

wonderful  thing  for  him  to  know  even  a  fiftieth  part  of  what  he 
does.  He  is  popularly  acquainted  with  the  outUnes  of  most  of  the 


THE  MARTYR  PHILOSOPHER. CHAPTER  XVIII.  291 

leading  sciences.  He  went  thrcugli  a  regular  course  of  read- 
ings with  my  admirable  friend :  but  he  has  not  the  time 

necessary  to  ensure  a  successful  prosecution  of  science.  It  is, 
however,  infinitely  advantageous  to  science  and  literature,  to 
have  the  willing  and  active  patronage  of  royalty.  I  never  knew 
him  exhibit  one  trait  of  overbearing  dogmatism ;  and  that  is 
saying  much  for  one  whom  all  flatter  always.  It  has  struck  me, 
however,  that  he  has  rather  too  anxious  an  eye  towards  securing 
the  character  and  applause  of  a  M^cenas." 

"  Pray,  Mr  E ,  do  you  recollect  mentioning  to  me  an  in- 
cident which  occurred  at  a  large  dinner  party  given  by , 

where  you  were  present,  when  Dr made  use  of  these  words 

to :  '  Does  not  yow think  it  possible  for  a  man  to  pelt 

another  with  potatoes,  to  provoke  him  to  fling  peaches  in  return, 
for  want  of  other  missiles  f '  and  the  furious  answer  was 

"  We  will  drop  that  subject,  if  you  please,"  said  E coldly, 

at  the  same  time  colouring,  and  giving  my  friend  a  peculiar 
monitory  look. 

"I  know  well,  personally,  that  has  done  very  many 

noble  things  in  his  day — most  of  them,  comparatively,  in  secret ; 
and  one  magnificent  action  he  has  performed  lately  towards  a 
man  of  scientific  eminence,  who  has  been  as  unfortunate  as  he 
is  deserving,  which  will  probably  never  come  to  the  public  ear, 

unless  and  ■ die  suddenly,"  said  Mr  .     He  had 

scarcely  uttered  these  words,  when  he  turned  suddenly  pale, 
laid  down  his  tea-cup  witli  a  quivering  hand,  and  slipped  slowly 
from  his  chair  to  the  floor,  where  he  lay  at  his  full  length,  roll- 
ing to  and  fro,  with  his  hands  pressed  upon  the  lower  part  of  his 
spine — and  all  the  while  uttering  deep  sighs  and  groans.  The 
big  drops  of  perspiration  rolling  from  his  forehead  down  his 
cheeks,  evidenced  the  dreadful  agony  he  was  enduring.     Dr 

D and  I  both  knelt  down  on  one  knee  by  his  side,  profi'er- 

ing  our  assistance ;  but  he  entreated  us  to  leave  him  to  himself 
for  a  few  moments,  and  he  should  soon  be  better. 

"Emma!  he  gasped,  calling  his  niece — who,  sobbing  bit- 
terly, was  at  his  side  in  a  moment — "  kiss  me — that's  a  dear 
girl — and  go  up  to  bed ;  but  on  your  way,  send  Joseph  here 


292  DIARY  or  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

directly."  She  retired ;  and,  in  a  few  moments  Joseph  entered 
hastily,  with  a  broad  leathern  band,  which  he  drew  round  his 
master's  waist  and  buckled  tightly.  He  then  pressed  with  both 
his  hands  for  some  time  upon  the  immediate  seat  of  the  pain. 
Our  situation  was  embarrassing  and  distressing — both  of  us 
medical  men,  and  yet  compelled  to  stand  by,  mere  passive  spec- 
tators of  agonies  we  could  neither  alleviate  nor  remove. 

"  Do  you  absolutely  despair  of  discovering  what  the  precise 
nature  of  this  complaint  is  ?  "  I  enquired  in  an  under  tone. 

"  Yes — in  common  with  every  one  else  that  has  tried  to  dis- 
cover it.  That  it  is  an  aifection  of  the  spinal  chord,  is  clear ; 
but  what  is  the  immediate  exciting  cause  of  these  tremendous 

paroxysms,  I  cannot  conjecture,"  replied  Dr  D . 

"  What  have  been  the  principal  remedies  resorted  to  ?  " 
"  Oh,  every  thing — almost  every  thing  that  the  wit  of  man 
could  devise — local  and  general  bleedings  to  a  dreadful  extent ; 
irritations  and  counter  irritations  without  end ;  electricity — gal- 
vanism— all  the  resources  of  medicine  and  surgery,  have  been 

ransacked  to  no  purpose.    Look  at  him ! "  whispered  Dr  D , 

"  look — look — do  you  see  how  his  whole  body  is  drawn  together 
in  a  heap,  while  his  limbs  are  quivering  as  though  they  would 
fall  from  him  ?  See — see — how  they  are  now  struck  out,  and 
plunging  about,  his  hands  clutching  convulsively  at  the  carpet 
— scarcely  a  trace  of  humanity  in  his  distorted  features — as  if 
this  great  and  good  man  were  the  sport  of  a  demon ! " 

"  Oh,  gracious  God  I  can  we  do  nothing  to  help  him  ?  "  I  en- 
quired, suddenly  approaching  him,  almost  stifled  with  my  emo- 
tions.    Mr  E did  not  seem  conscious  of  our  approach ;  but 

lay  rather  quieter,  groaning — "  Oh — oh — oh — that  it  would 
please  God  to  dismiss  me  from  my  sufferings ! " 

"  My  dear,  dear  Mr  E ,"  exclaimed  Dr  D ,  excessively 

agitated,  "  can  we  do  nothing  for  you  ?  Can't  we  be  of  any  ser- 
vice to  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  none — none — none ! "  he  groaned,  in  tones  expressive 
of  utter  hopelessness.  For  more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  did 
this  victim  of  disease  continue  writhing  on  the  floor,  and  we 
standing  by,  "  physicians  of  no  value ! "  The  violence  of  the 
paroxysm  abated  at  length,  and  again  we  stooped,  for  the  pur- 


THE  MARTYR  PHILOSOPHER. CHAPTER  XVIII.  293 

pose  of  raising  him  and  caiTying  him  to  the  sofa;  but  he 
motioned  us  off,  exclaiming  so  faintly  as  to  be  almost  inaudible 
— "  No,  no,  thank  you — I  must  not  be  moved  for  this  hour,  and 
when  I  am,  it  must  be  to  bed." — "  Then  we  will  bid  you  good- 
evening,  and  pray  to  God  you  may  be  better  in  the  morning." 
— "  Yes — yes  ;  better — better  ;  good — good-by,"  he  muttered 
indistinctly. 

"  Master's  falling  asleep,  gentlemen,  as  he  always  does  after 
these  fits,"  said  Joseph,  who  had  his  arms  round  his  suffering 
master's  neck.     We,  of  course,  left  immediately,  and  met  Miss 

E in  the  passage,  muffled  in  her  shawl,  and  sobbing  as  if 

she  would  break  her  heart. 

Dr  D told  me,  as  we  were  driving  home,  that,  about  two 

years  ago,  E made  a  week's  stay  with  him;  and  that,  on  one 

occasion,  he  endured  agonies  of  such  dreadful  intensity  as 
nothing  could  abate,  or  in  any  measure  alleviate,  but  two  doses 
of  laudanum  of  nearly  half  an  ounce  each,  within  half  an  hour 
of  each  other  ;  and  that  even  then  he  did  not  sleep  for  more  than 
two  hours.  "  When  he  awoke,"  continued  my  friend,  "  he  was 
lying  on  the  sofa  in  a  state  of  the  utmost  exhaustion,  the  per- 
spiration running  from  him  like  water.  I  asked  him  if  he  did 
not  sometimes  yield  to  such  thoughts  as  were  suggested  to  Job 
by  his  impetuous  friends— to  '  curse  God  and  die ; '  to  repine  at 
the  long  and  lingering  tortures  he  had  endured  nearly  all  his 
life,  for  no  apparent  crime  of  his  own  ?  '  No,  no,'  he  replied 
calmly;  'I've  suffered  too  long  an  apprenticeship  to  pain  for 
that!  I  own  I  was  at  first  a  little  disobedient — ^a  little  restive — 
but  now  I  am  learning  resignation  !  W^ould  not  useless  fretting 
serve  to  enhance — to  aggravate  my  pains  ? '  '  Well ! '  I  exclaimed, 
'  it  puzzles  my  theology — if  any  thing  could  make  me  scepti- 
cal'  .     E saw  the  train  of  my  thoughts,  and  interrupted 

me,  laying  his  white  wasted  hand  on  mine — '  I  always  strive  to 
bear  in  mind  that  I  am  in  the  hands  of  a  God  as  good  as  great, 
and  that  I  am  not  to  doubt  his  goodness,  because  I  cannot  exactly 
see  hoiv  he  brings  it  about.  Doubtless  there  are  reasons  for  my 
suffering  what  I  do,  which,  though  at  present  incomprehensible 
to  me,  would  appear  abundantly  satisfactory  could  I  be  made 
acquainted  with  them.     Oh,  Dr  D ,  what  would  become  of 


294  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHTSICIAN. 

me,'  said  E ,  solemnly,  '  were  I,  instead  of  the  rich  consola- 
tions of  religion,  to  have  nothing  to  rely  on  but  the  dishearten- 
ing speculations  of  infidelity  ! — If  in  Ms  world  only  I  have  hope,' 
he  continued,  looking  steadfastly  upwards,  '  I  am,  of  all  men 
most  miserable!' — Is  it  not  dangerous  to  know  such  a  man, 
lest  one  should  feel  inclined  to  fall  down  and  worship  him?" 

enquired  my  friend.    Indeed  I  thought  so.    Surely  E was  a 

miracle  of  patience  and  fortitude  !  and  how  he  had  contrived  to 
make  hit*  splendid  advancements  in  science,  whilst  subject  to 
such  almost  unheard-of  tortures,  both  as  to  duration  and  inten- 
sity— had  devoted  himself  so  successfully  to  the  prosecution  of 
studies  requiring  habits  of  long,  patient,  profound  abstraction- 
was  to  me  inconceivable. 

How  few  of  us  are  aware  of  what  is  suffered  by  those  with 
whom  we  are  most  intimate  !  How  few  know  the  heavy  coun- 
terbalancings  of  popularity  and  eminence — the  exquisite  agonies, 
whether  physical  or  mental,  inflicted  by  one  irremovable  "  thorn 
in  the  flesh  ! "  Oh  !  the  miseries  of  that  eminence  whose  chief 
prerogative  too  often  is — 

"  Above  the  vulgar  herd  to  rot  in  state  !  " 

How  little  had  I  thought,  while  gazing  at  the Rooms  on 

this  admirable  man,  first  fascinated  with  the  placidity  of  his  noble 
features,  that  I  looked  at  one  who  had  equal  claims  to  the 
character  of  a  maktyr  and  a  philosopher  !  How  my  own  petty 
grievances  dwindled  away  in  comparison  with  those  endured  by 

E !     How  contemptible    the    pusillanimity  I    had    often 

exhibited ! 

And  do  Tor,  reader,  who,  if  a  man,  are  perhaps  in  the  habit 
of  cursing  and  blaspheming  while  smarting  under  the  toothach, 
or  any  of  those  minor  "  ills  that  flesh  is  heir  to,"  think,  at  such 
times,  of  poor,  meek,  suffering  E ,  and  be  silent ! 

I  could  not  dismiss  from  my  mind  the  painful  image  of  E 

writhing  on  the  floor,  as  I  have  above  described,  but  lay  the 
greater  part  of  the  night  reflecting  on  the  probable  nature  of  his 
unusual  disorder.  Was  it  any  thing  of  a  spasmodic  nature? 
Would  not  such  attacks  have  worn  him  out  long  ago  ?    Was  it 


THE  MAKTTB  PHILOSOPHER. CHAPTEE  XVIII.  295 

one  of  the  remoter  effects  of  partial  paralysis  ?  Was  it  a 
preternatural  pressure  on  the  spinal  chord,  occasioned  by  frac- 
ture of  one  of  the  vertebrae,  or  enlargement  of  the  intervertebral 
ligaments  ?  Or  was  it  owing  to  a  thickening  of  the  medulla- 
spinalis  itself  ? 

Fifty  similar  conjectures  passed  through  my  mind,  excited  as 
well  by  the  singularity  of  the  disease,  as  by  sympathy  for  the  suf- 
ferer. Before  I  fell  asleep,  I  resolved  to  call  on  him  during  the  next 
day,  and  enquire  carefully  into  the  nature  of  the  symptoms,  in  the 
forlorn  hope  of  hitting  on  some  means  of  mitigating  his  suffer- 
ings. 

By  twelve  o'clock  at  noon  I  was  set  down  again  at  his  door. 
A  maid-servant  answered  my  summons,  and  told  me  that  Mr 

E and  Joseph  were  busily  engaged  in   the   '■'■  Lahhory  V 

She  took  in  my  card  to  him,  and  returned  with  her  master's 
compliments,  and  he  would  thank  me  to  step  in.     I  followed  the 

girl  to  the  laboratory.  On  opening  the  door,  I  saw  E and  his 

trusty  work-fellow,  Joseph,  busily  engaged  fusing  some  species  of 
metal.  The  former  was  dressed  as  on  the  preceding  evening, 
with  the  addition  of  a  long  black  apron— looked  heated  and 
flushed  with  exercise ;  and,  with  his  stooping  gait,  was  holding 
some  small  implement  over  the  furnace,  while  Joseph  on  his 
knees,  was  puffing  away  at  the  fire  with  a  small  pair  of  bellows. 

— To  anticipate  for  a  moment.      How  little   did  E or  I 

imagine,  that  this  was  very  nearly  the  last  time  of  his  ever  again 
entering  the  scene  of  his  long  and  useful  scientific  labours ! 

I  was  utterly  astonished  to  see  one  whose  sufferings  overnight 
had  been  so  dreadful,  quietly  pursuing  his  avocations  in  the 
morning,  as  though  nothing  had  happened  to  him ! 

"  Excuse  my  shaking  hands  with  you  for  the  present.  Doctor," 

said  E ,  looking  at  me  through  a  huge  pair  of  tortoise-shell 

spectacles,  "  for  both  hands  are  engaged,  you  see.     My  friend, 

Dr ,  has  just  sent  me  a  pi(;ce  of  platina,  and  you  see  I'm 

already  playing  pranks  with  it !  Really,  I'm  as  eager  to  spoil  a 
plaything,  to  see  what  my  rattle's  made  of,  as  any  philosophical 
child  in  the  kingdom  !  Here  I  am  analyzing,  dissolving,  trans- 
muting, and  so  on.  But  I've  really  an  important  end  in  view 
here,  trying  a  new  combination  of  metal,  and  Dr is  anxious 


296 


DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 


to  know  if  the  result  of  my  process  corresponds  with  hts.~ 

Now,  now,  Joseph,"  said  E ,  breaking  off  suddenly,  "  it  is 

ready ;  bring  the  " At  this  critical  instant,  by  some  unlucky 

accident,  poor  Joseph  suddenly  overthrew  the  whole  apparatus 
—and  the  compounds,  ashes,  fragments,  &c.,  were  spilled  on  the 
floor !     Really,  I  quite  lost  my  own  temper  with  thinking  of 

the  vexatious  disappointment  it  would  be  to  E .    Not  so 

however,  with  him. 

"  Oh,  dear— dear,  dear  me !  Well,  here's  an  end  of  our  day's 
work  before  we  thought  for  it !  How  did  you  do  it,  Joseph, 
eh  ?  "  said  E ,  with  an  air  of  chagrin,  but  with  perfect  mild- 
ness of  tone.  What  a  ludicrous  contrast  between  the  philosopher 
and  his  assistant !  The  latter,  an  obese  little  fellow,  with  a  droll 
cast  of  one  eye,  was  quite  red  in  the  face,  and,  wringing  his 
hands,  exclaimed—"  O  Lord— O  Lord— O  Lord !  what  could 
I  have  been  doing,  master  ?  " 

"  Why,  that's  surely  j/ou?-  concern  more  than  mine,"  repUed 

E ,  smiling  at  me.     "  Come,  come,  it  can't  be   helped— 

you've  done  yourself  more  harm  than  me— by  giving  Dr . 

such  a  specimen  of  your  awkwardness  as  /  have  not  seen  for 
many  a  month.  See  and  set  things  to  rights  as  soon  as  possible," 
said  E ,  calmly  putting  away  his  spectacles. 

"Well,  Dr ,  what  do  you  think  of  my  little  workshop  ?" 

he  continued,  addressing  me,  who  still  stood  with  my  hat  and 
gloves  on— surprised  and  delighted  to  see  that  his  temper  had 
stood  this  trial,  and  that  such  a  provoking  contretemps  had 
really  not  at  all  ruffled  him.  From  the  position  in  ■s^hich  he 
stood,  the  light  fell  strongly  on  his  face,  and  I  saw  his  features 
more  distinctly  than  heretofore.  I  noticed  that  sure  index  of  a 
thinking  countenance — three  strong  perpendicular  marks,  or 
folds,  between  the  eyebrows,  at  right  angles  with  the  deep 
wrinkles  that  furrowed  his  forehead,  and  then  the  "  untroubled 
lustre"  of  his  cold,  clear,  full,  blue  eyes,  rich  and  serene  as  tiiat 


-  through  whose  clear  medium  the  great  sun 


Loveth  to  shoot  his  beams,  all  hright'ning,  all. 
Turning  to  gold." 

Reader,  when  you  see  a  face  of  this  stamp,  so  marked,  and  with 


THE  MARTYR  PHILOSOPHEE. CHAPTER  XVIII.  297 

such  eyes  and  forehead,  rest  assured  you  are  looking  at  a  gifted, 
if  not  an  extraordinary  man. 

The  lower  features  were  somewhat  shrunk  and  sallow,  as 
well  they  might,  if  only  from  a  thousand  hours  of  agony,  set- 
ting aside  the  constant  wearing  of  his  "ever  waking  mind;" 
yet  a  smile  of  cheerfulness,  call  it  rather  resignation,  irradia- 
ted his  pale  countenance,  like  twilight  on  a  sepulchre.  He 
showed  me  round  his  laboraiory,  which  was  kept  in  most  exem- 
plary cleanliness  and  order;  and  then,  opening  a  door,  we  entered 
the  "  sanctum  sanctorum" — his  study.  It  had  not  more,  I  should 
think,  than  five  or  six  hundred  books  ;  but  all  of  them — in  plain 
substantial  bindings — had  manifestly  seen  good  service.  Imme- 
diately beneath  the  window  stood  several  portions  of  a  splendid 
astronomical  apparatus — a  very  large  telescope,  in  exquisite 
order — a  recently  invented  instrument  for  calculating  the  paral- 
laxes of  the  fixed  stars — a  chronometer  of  his  own  construction, 
&c.  "  Do  you  see  this  piece  of  furniture  ?  "  he  enquired,  direct- 
ing my  attention  to  a  sort  of  sideless  sofa,  or  broad  inclined 
plane,  stufied,  the  extremity  turned  up,  to  rest  the  feet  against 
— and  being  at  an  angle  of  about  forty-five  degrees  with  the 
floor.  "  Ah !  could  that  thing  speak,  it  might  tell  a  tale  of  my 
tortures,  such  as  no  living  being  may !  For,  when  I  feel  my 
daily  paroxysms  coming  on  me,  if  I  am  any  where  near  my  study, 
I  lay  my  wearied  limbs  here,  and  continue  till  I  find  relief!" 
This  put  conversation  into  the  very  train  I  wished.  I  begged 
him  to  favour  me  with  a  description  of  his  disease ;  and  he  sat 
down  and  complied.  I  recollect  him  comparing  the  pain  to  that 
which  might  be  supposed  to  follow  the  incessant  stinging  of  a 
wasp  at  the  spinal  marrow — sudden  lancinating,  accompanied  by 
quivering  sensations  throughout  the  whole  nervous  system — 
followed  by  a  strange  sense  of  numbness.  He  said  that  at  other 
times,  it  was  as  though  some  one  were  in  the  act  of  drilling  a 
hole  through  his  backbone,  and  piercing  the  marrow!  Some- 
times, during  the  moments  of  his  most  ecstatic  agonies,  he  felt 
as  though  his  backbone  were  rent  asunder  all  the  way  up.  The 
pain  was,  on  the  whole,  local — confined  to  the  first  of  the  lumbar 
■  vertebrae ;  but  occasionally  fluctuating  between  them  and  the 
dorsal. 


298  DIAKT  or  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

When  he  had  finished  the  dreary  details  of  his  disease,  I  was 
obliged  to  acknowledge,  with  a  sigh,  that  nothing  suggested 

itself  to  me  as  a  remedy,  but  what  I  understood  from  Dr  D 

had  been  tried  over  and  over,  and  over  again.  "  You  are  right," 
he  replied  sorrowfully.  "  Dreadful  as  are  my  sufferings,  the  bare 
thought  of  undergoing  more  medical  or  surgical  treatment 
makes  me  shudder.  My  back  is  already  frightfully  disfigured 
with  the  searings  of  caustic,  seton-marks,  cupping,  and  blister- 
ing ;  and  I  hope  God  will  give  me  patience  to  wait  till  these 
perpetual  knockings,  as  it  were,  shall  have  at  length  battered 
down  this  frail  structure." 

"  Mr  E ,  you  rival  some  of  the  old  martyrs  ! "    I  faltered, 

grasping  his  hand  as  we  rose  to  leave  the  study. 

"  In  point  of  bodily  suffering,  I  may;  but  their  holiness! 
Those  who  are  put  into  the  keenest  parts — the  very  heart  of  the 
'  fiery  furnace' — will  come  out  most  refined  at  last ! " 

"  Well,  you  may  be  earning  a  glorious  reward  hereafter,  for 
your  constancy  " 

"  Or  I  may  be  merely  smarting  for  the  sins  of  my  forefathers !" 
exclaimed  E mournfully. 

Monday,  July  18 — .     Having  been  summoned  to  a  patient  in 

the  neighbourhood  of  E ,  I  took  that  opportunity  of  calling 

upon  him  on  my  return.  It  was  about  nine  o'clock  in  the  even- 
ing, and  I  found  the  philosopher  sitting  pensively  in  the  parlour 
alone ;  for  his  niece,  I  learned,  had  retired  early,  owing  to  indis- 
position. A  peculiar  sinumbra  lamp,  of  his  own  contrivance, 
stood  on  the  table,  which  was  strewn  with  books,  pamphlets,  and 
papers.     He  received  me  with  his  usual  gentle  affability. 

"  I  don't  know  how  it  is,  but  I  feel  in  a  singular  mood  of 
mind  to-night,"  said  he  :  "I  ought  to  say  rather  many  moods  : 
sometimes  so  suddenly  and  strongly  excited  as  to  lose  the  con- 
trol over  my  emotions — at  others  sinking  into  the  depths  of 
despondency.  I've  been  trying  for  these  two  hours  to  glance 
over  this  '  New  View  of  the  Neptunian  Theory,' "  pointing  to  an 

open  book  on  the  table,  "  which has  sent  me,  to  review  for 

him   in  the  ;    but  'tis  useless ;  I  cannot  command   my 

thoughts."     I  felt  his  pulse  :  it  was  one  of  the  most  irregular  J 


THE  MARTTE  PHILOSOPHER. CHAPTER  SVIII.  299 

had  ever  known.  "  I  know  what  you  suspect,"  said  he,  obser- 
ving my  eyes  fixed  with  a  puzzled  air  on  my  watch,  and  my 
finger  at  his  wrist,  for  several  minutes  ;  "  some  organic  mischief 
at  the  heart.  Several  of  your  fraternity  have  latterly  comforted 
me  with  assurances  to  that  efltect."  I  assured  him  I  did  not 
apprehend  any  thing  of  the  kind,  but  merely  that  his  circulation 
was  a  little  disturbed  by  recent  excitement. 

"  True— true,"  he  replied,  "  I  aw  a  little  flustered,  as  the 
phrase  is" — — 

"  Oh  ! — here's  the  secret,  I  suppose  ? "  said  I,  reaching  to  a 
periodical  publication  of  the  month  lying  on  the  table,  and  in 
which  I  had,  a  few  days  ago,  read  a  somewhat  virulent  attack 
on  him.     "You're  very  rudely  handled  here,  I  think?"  said  I. 

"  What !  do  you  think  thathns  discomposed  me  ?  "  he  enquired 
with  a  smile.  "  No,  no — I'm  past  feeling  these  things  long  ago ! 
Abuse — mere  personalitj' — now  excites  in  me  no  emotion  of  any 
kind!" 

"  Wliy,  Mr  E •,  surely  you  are  not  indifferent  to  the  opinion 

of  the  public,  which  may  be  misled  by  such  things  as  these,  if 
suffered  to  go  unanswered  ?" 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  that.  If  I've  done  any  thing  good  in  my 
time,  as  I  have  honestly  tried  to  do,  sensible  people  won't  believe 
me  an  impostor,  at  any  man's  bidding.  Those  who  would  be  so 
influenced,  are  hardly  worth  undeceiving."  * 

*  *  "  There's  a  good  deal  of  acuteness  in  the  paper ;  and,  in 
one  particular,  the  reviewer  has  fairly  caught  me  tripping.  He 
may  laugh  at  me  as  much  as  he  pleases ;  but  why  go  about  to 
put  himself  in  a  passion  ?  The  subject  did  not  require  it.  But 
if  he  is  ia  a  passion,  should  I  not  be  foolish  to  be  in  one  too?^ 
Passion  serves  only  to  put  out  truth  ;  and  no  one  would  indulge 

*  "  This  gentleman's  speculations  have  long  served  to  amuse  children  and 
old  people  :  now  that  he  has  become  old  himself,  he  also  may  hope  for  amuse- 
ment from  them." — "  This  mountain  has  so  long  brought  forth  mice,  that,  now 
it  has  become  enfeebled  and  worn  out,  it  may  amuse  itself  with  looking  after 

its  progeny."— "  Chimeras  of  a  diseased  brain." — "  Quackery." Review,* 

[neither  the  Edinburgh  nor  Quarterly.]     Mr  E knew  who  was  the  writer 

of  this  article 


300  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

it  that  had  truth  only  in  view.  *  *  The  real  occasion  of  m3^ 
nervousness,"  he  continued,  "  is  far  different  from  what  you  have 
supposed — a  little  incident  which  occurred  only  this  evening ; 
and  I  will  tell  it  you. 

"  My  niece,  feeling  poorly  with  a  cold,  retired  to  hed  as  soon 
as  she  had  done  tea ;  and,  after  sitting  here  about  a  quarter  of 
an  hour,  I  took  one  of  the  candles,  and  walked  to  the  laboratory, 
to  see  whether  all  was  right — as  is  my  custom  every  evening. 
On  opening  the  door,  to  my  very  great  amazement,  I  saw  a 
stranger  in  it ;  a  gentleman  in  dark-coloured  clothes,  holding  a 
dim  taper  in  one  hand,  and  engaged  in  going  round  the  room, 
apparently  putting  all  my  instruments  in  order.  I  stood  at  the 
door  almost  petrified,  watching  his  movements  without  thinking 
of  interrupting  them,  for  a  sudden  feeling  of  something  like  awe 
crept  over  me.  He  made  no  noise  whatever,  and  did  not  seem 
aware  that  any  one  was  looking  at  him — or  if  he  was,  he  did  not 
seem  disposed  to  notice  the  interruption.  I  saw  him  as  clearly, 
and  what  he  was  doing,  as  I  now  see  you  plajang  with  your 
gloves !  he  was  engaged  leisurely  putting  away  all  my  loose 
implements  ;  shutting  boxes,  cases,  and  cupboards,  with  the 
accuracy  of  one  who  was  perfectly  well  acquainted  with  liis 
work.  Having  thus  disposed  of  all  the  instruments  and  appa- 
ratus which  had  been  used  to-day — and  we  have  had  very  many 
more  than  usual  out — he  opened  the  inner-door  leading  to  the 
study,  and  entered — I  following  in  mute  astonishment.  He  went 
to  work  the  same  way  in  the  study ;  shutting  up  several  volumes 
that  lay  open  on  the  table,  and  carefully  replacing  them  in  their 
proper  places  on  the  shelves. 

"  Having  cleared  away  these,  he  approached  the  astronomi- 
cal apparatus  near  the  window,  put  the  cap  on  the  object-end 
of  the  telescope,  pushed  in  the  joints  all  noiselessly,  closed  up 
in  its  case  my  new  chronometer,  and  then  returned  to  the  table 
where  my  desk  lay,  took  up  the  inkstand,  poured  out  the  ink 
into  the  fireplace,  flung  all  the  pens  under  the  grate,  and  then 
shut  the  desk,  locked  it,  and  laid  the  key  on  the  top  of  it. 
When  he  had  done  all  this,  he  walked  towards  the  wall,  and 
turned  slowly  towards  me,  looked  me  full  in  the  face,  and  shook 
his  head  mournfully.     The  taper  he  held  in  his  hand  slowly 


THE  MARTYB  PHILOSOPHEE. CHAPTER  XVIII.  301 

expired ;  and  the  spectre,  if  such  it  were,  disappeared.  The 
strangest  part  of  the  story  is  yet  to  follow.  The  pale,  fixed 
features  seemed  perfectly /amz'/iar  to  me — they  were  those  which 
I  had  often  gazed  at,  in  a  portrait  of  Mr  Boyle,  prefixed  to  my 
quarto  copy  of  his  Treatise  of  Atmospheric  Air.  As  soon  as  I 
had  a  little  recovered  my  self-possession,  I  took  down  the  work 
in  question,  and  examined  the  portrait.  I  was  right ! — I  cannot 
account  for  my  not  having  spoken  to  the  figure,  or  gone  close 
up  to  it.  I  think  I  could  have  done  either,  as  far  as  courage 
went.  My  prevailing  idea  was,  that  a  single  word  would  have 
dissolved  the  charm,  and  my  curiosity  prompted  me  to  see  it 
out.     I  returned  to  the  parlour,  and  rang  the  hell  for  Joseph. 

"  '  Joseph,'  said  I,  '  have  you  set  things  to  rights  in  the  labo- 
ratory and  study  to-night?' — 'Yes,  master,'  he  replied,  with 
surprise  in  his  manner;  '  I  finished  it  before  tea-time,  and  set 
things  in  particular  good  order  ;  I  gave  both  the  rooms  a  right 
good  cleaning  out ;  I'm  sure  there's  not  every  pin  in  its  wrong 
place." 

"  '  What  made  you  fling  the  pens  and  ink  in  the  fireplace 
and  under  the  grate?' 

"  '  Because  I  thought  they  were  of  no  use — the  pens  worn  to 
stumps,  and  the  ink  thick  and  clotted — too  much  gum  in  it.' 
He  was  evidently  astonished  at  being  asked  such  questions,  and 
was  going  to  explain  further,  when  I  said  simply,  '  That  will 
do,'  and  he  i-etired.  Now,  what  am  I  to  think  of  all  this  ?  If  it 
were  a  mere  ocular  spectrum,  clothed  with  its  functions  from 
my  own  excited  fancy,  there  was  yet  a  unity  of  purpose  in  its 
doings  that  is  extraordinary !  Something  very  much  like  '  shut- 
ting up  the  shop'' — eh?"  enquired  E with  a  melancholy 

smile. 

"  'Tis  touching — very !  I  never  heard  of  a  more  singular  in- 
cident," I  replied  abstractedly,  without  removing  my  eyes  from 
the  fire;  for  my  reading  of  the  occurrence  was  a  sudden  and 

strong  conviction,  that,  ghost  or  no  ghost,  E had  toiled  his 

last  in  the  behalf  of  science — that  he  would  never  again  have 
occasion  to  use  his  philosophical  machinery!  This  melancholy 
presentiment  invested  E ,  and  all  he  said  or  did,  with  ten- 
fold interest  in  my  eyes.     "  Don't  suppose,  doctor,  that  1  am 


302  DIAKT  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

weak  enough  to  be  seriously  disturbed  by  the  occurrence  I  have 
just  been  mentioning.  Whether  or  not  it  really  portends  my 
approaching  death,  I  know  not.  Though  I  am  not  presump- 
tuous enough  to  suppose  myself  so  important  as  to  warrant  any 
special  interference  of  Providence  on  my  behalf,  yet  I  cannot 
help  thinking  I  am  to  look  on  this  as  a  warning — a  solemn  pre- 
monition— that  I  may  '  set  my  house  in  order,  and  die.'  "  Our 
conversation,  during  the  remainder  of  our  interview,  turned  on 
the  topic  suggested  by  the  affecting  incident  just  related.  I  lis- 
tened to  all  he  uttered  as  to  the  words  of  a  doomed— a  dying 

man !    What  E advanced  on  this  difficult  and  interesting 

subject,  was  marked  not  less  by  sound  philosophy  than  un- 
feigned piety.  He  ended  with  avowing  his  belief,  that  the  Omni- 
potent Being,  who  formed  both  the  body  and  the  soul,  and 
willed  them  to  exist  unitedly,  could  surely,  nevertheless,  if  he 
saw  good,  cause  the  one  to  exist  separately  from  the  other; 
either  by  endowing  it  with  new  properties  for  that  special  pur- 
pose, or  by  enabling  it  to  exercise,  in  its  disembodied  state, 
those  powers  which  continued  latent  in  it  during  its  connexion 
with  the  body.  Did  it  follow,  he  asked,  that  neither  body  nor 
soul  possessed  any  other  qualities  than  those  which  were  neces- 
sary to  enable  them  to  exist  together  ?  Why  should  the  soul 
be  incapable  of  a  substantially  distinct  personal  existence? 
Where  the  impossibility  of  its  being  made  visible  to  organs  of 
sense  ?  Has  the  Almighty  no  means  of  bringing  this  to  pass  ? 
Are  there  no  latent  properties  in  the  organs  of  vision — no 
subtle  sympathies  with  immaterial  substances — which  are  yet 
undiscovered,  and  even  undiscoverable  ?  Surely  this  may  be 
the  case — though  how,  it  would  be  impossible  to  conjecture. 
He  saw  no  bad  philosophy,  he  said,  in  this ;  and  he  who  decided 
the  question  in  the  negative,  before  he  had  brought  forward 
some  evidence  of  its  moral  or  physical  impossibility,  was  guilty 
of  most  presumptuous  dogmatism. 

This  is  the  substance  of  his  opinions ;  but,  alas  !  I  lack  the 
chaste,  nervous,  philosophical  eloquence  in  which  they  were 

clothed.     A  distinguished  living  character  said  of  E ,  that 

he  was  the  most  fascinating  talker  on  abstruse  subjects  he  ever 
heard.    I  could  have  stayed  all  night  listening  to  him.    In  fact, 


THE  MAETTB  PHLLOSOPHER. — CHAPTER  XVIII.  303 

I  fear  I  did  trespass  on  his  politeness  even  to  inconvenience.  I 
stayed  and  partook  of  his  supper — simple  frugal  fare — consisting 
of  roast  potatoes  and  two  tumblers  of  new  milk.  I  left  about 
eleven ;  my  mind  occupied  but  with  one  wish  all  the  way  home 

— that  I  had  known  E intimately  for  as  many  yeai-s  as 

hours ! 

Two  days  afterwards,  the  following  hurried  note  was  put 

into  my  hands  from  my  friend,  Dr  D : — "  My  dear ,  I 

am  sure  you  will  be  as  much  afflicted  as  I  was,  at  hearing  that 

our  inestimable  friend,  Mr  E ,  had  a  sudden  stroke  of  the 

palsy  this  afternoon  about  two  o'clock,  from  which  I  very  much 
fear  he  may  never  recover ;  for  this,  added  to  his  advanced  age, 
and  the  dreadful  chronic  complaint  under  which  he  labours,  is 
surely  sufEeient  to  shatter  the  small  remains  of  his  strength. 

I  need  hardly  say  that  all  is  in  confusion  at .     I  am  going 

down  there  to-night,  and  shall  be  happy  to  drive  you  down 
also,  if  you  will  be  at  my  house  by  seven.  Yours,  &c." — I  was 
grieved  and  agitated,  but  in  nowise  surprised  at  this  intelligence. 
What  passed  the  last  time  I  saw  him,  prepared  me  for  some- 
thing of  this  kind. 

On  arriving  in  the  evening,  we  were  shown  into  the  parlour, 

where  sat  Miss  E ,  in  a  paroxysm  of  hysterical  weeping, 

which  had  forced  her,  a  few  moments  before,  to  leave  her  uncle's 
sick-room.  It  was  some  time  before  we  could  calm  her  agi- 
tated spirits,  or  get  her  to  give  us  any  thing  like  a  connected 
account  of  her  uncle's  sudden  illness.  "  Oh,  these  will  tell  you 
all ! "  said  she  sobbing,  and  taking  two  letters  from  her  bosom, 
one  of  which  bore  a  black  seal ;  "  it  is  these  cruel  letters  that 
have  broken  his  heart !  Both  came  by  the  same  post  this  mor- 
ning ! "  She  withdrew,  promising  to  send  for  us  when  all  was 
ready,  and  we  hastily  opened  the  two  letters  she  had  left.  What 
will  the  reader  suppose  were  the  two  heavy  strokes  dealt  at  once 

upon  the  head  of  Mr  E by  an  inscrutable  Providence  ?    The 

letter  I  opened  conveyed  the  intelligence  of  the  sudden  death,  in 

childbed,  of  Mrs ,  his  only  daughter,  to  whom  he  had  been 

most  passionately  attached.     The  letter  Dr  D held  in  his 

hand,  disclosed  an  instance  of  almost  unparalleled  perfidy  and 
ingratitude.    I  shall  here  state  what  I  learned  afterwards  :  that, 


304  DIAKT   OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

many  years  ago,  Mr  E had  taken  a  poor  lad  from  one  of  tlie 

parish  schools,*  pleased  with  his  quickness  and  obedience,  and 
had  apprenticed  him  to  a  respectable  tradesman.     He  served  his 

articles  honourably,  and  Mr  E nobly  advanced  him  funds  to 

establish  himself  in  business.     He  prospered  beyond  every  one's 

expectations  ;  and  the  good,  generous,  confiding  E ,  was  so 

delighted  with  his  conduct,  and  persuaded  of  his  principles,  that 
he  gradually  advanced  him  large  sums  of  money  to  increase  an 
extensive  connexion  ;  and  at  last  invested  his  all,  amounting  to 
little  short  of  £15,000,  in  this  man's  concern,  for  which  he 
received  five  per  cent.     Sudden  success,  however,  turned  this 

young  man's  head ;  and  Mr  E had  long  been  uneasy  at 

hearing  current  rumours  about  his  protege's  unsteadiness  and 
extravagance.  He  had  several  times  spoken  to  him  about  them ; 
but  was  easily  persuaded  that  the  reports  in  question  were  as 
groundless  as  malignant.  And  as  the  last  half-year's  interest 
was  paid  punctually,  accompanied  with  a  hint,  that  if  doubts 
were  entertained  of  his  probity,  the  man  was  ready  to  refund  a 

great  part  of  the  principal,  Mr  E 's   confidence  revived. 

Now,  the  letter  in  question  was  from  this  person,  and  stated, 
that,  though  "  circumstances"  had  compelled  him  to  withdraw 
from  his  creditors  for  the  present — in  other  words,  to  abscond — 

he  had  no  doubt  that,  if  Mr  E would  wait  a  little,  he  should 

in  time  be  able  to  pay  him  "  a  fair  dividend  ! " 

"  Good  God !  why,  E is  ruined!"  exclaimed  Dr  D , 

turning  pale,  and  dropping  the  letter,  after  having  read  it  to  me. 
"  Yes,  ruined ! — all  the  hard  savings  of  many  years'  labour  and 
economy,  gone  at  a  stroke !" 

"  Why,  was  all  his  small  fortune  embarked  in  this  man's 
concern  ?  " 

"  All,  except  a  few  hundreds  lying  loose  at  his  banker's ! — 
What  is  to  become  of  poor  Miss  E ?  " 

"Cannot  this  infamous  scoundrel  be  brought  to  justice?"  I 
enquired. 

•  "  Enfans  trouvfo,  enfans  de  pauvres.  On  pent  se  charger  d'eux  en  payant 
une  somme  i  la  paroisse  qui  vous  le  livre.  Cette  coutume  a  d6g6n6r6  d'une 
mani^re  horrible,  et,  dans  certains  cantons  d'Angleterre,  elle  est  devenue  iin 
veritable  march6  de  chair  humaine." — Koie  of  the  French  Tran/Wor. 


THE  MARTTB  PHILOSOPHER. — CHAPTER  XVIII.  305 

"  If  he  were,  he  may  prove,  perhaps,  not  worth  powder  and 
shot,  the  viper  ! " 

Similar  emotions  kept  us  both  silent  for  several  moments. 

"  This  will  put  his  philosophy  to  a  dreadful  trial,"  said  I. 
"  How  do  you  think  he  will  bear  it,  should  he  recover  from  the 
present  seizure  so  far  as  to  be  made  sensible  of  the  extent  of  his 
misfortunes?" 

"  Oh,  nobly,  nobly !  I'll  pledge  my  existence  to  it !  He'll 
bear  it  like  a  Christian  as  well  as  a  philosopher  !  I've  seen  him 
in  trouble  before  this." 

"  Is  Miss  E entirely  dependent  on  her  uncle ;  and  has 

he  made  no  provision  for  her  ?  " 

"  Alas  !  he  had  appropriated  to  her  £5000  of  the  £15,000  in 
this  man's  hands,  as  a  marriage  portion — I  know  it,  for  I  am 
one  of  his  executors.  The  circumstance  of  leaving  her  thus 
destitute  will,  I  know,  prey  cruelly  on  his  mind." — Shortly  after- 
wards, we  were  summoned  into  the  chamber  of  the  venerable 
sufferer.     His  niece  sat  at  the  bedside,  near  his  head,  holding 

one  of  his  cold  motionless  hands  in  hers.     Mr  E 's  face, 

deadly  pale,  and  damp  with  perspiration,  had  suflPered  a  shocking 
distortion  of  the  features — the  left  eye  and  the  mouth  being  drawn 
downwards  to  the  left  side.  He  gazed  at  us  vacantly,  evidently 
without  recognizing  us,  as  we  took  our  stations,  one  at  the  foot, 
the  other  at  the  side  of  the  bed.  What  a  melancholy  contrast 
between  the  present  expression  of  his  eyes  and  that  of  acuteness 
and  brilliance  which  eminently  characterized  them  in  health ! 
They  reminded  me  of  Milton's  sun,  looking 

" through  the  horizontal  misty  air. 

Shorn  of  its  heams." 
The  distorted  lips  were  moving  about  incessantly,  as  though 
with  abortive  eiForts  to  speak,  though  he  could  utter  nothing 
but  an  inarticulate  murmuring  sound,  which  he  had  continued 
almost  from  the  moment  of  his  being  struck.  Was  it  not  a 
piteous,  a  heart-rending  spectacle  ?  Was  this  the  philoso- 
pher ! 

After  making  due  enquiries,  and  ascertaining  the  extent  of  the 
injury  to  his  nervous  system,  we  withdrew  to  consult  on  the 
treatment  to  be  adopted.      I  considered  that  the  uncommon 

1.  D 


306  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

quantities  of  laudanum  he  had  so  long  been  in  the  habit  of 
receiving'  into  his  system,  alone  sufficiently  accounted  for  his 
present  seizure.  Then,  again,  the  disease  in  his  spine — the  conse- 
quent exhaustion  of  his  energies — the  sedentary,  thoughtful  life 
he  led — all  these  were  at  least  predisposing  causes.  The  sud- 
den shock  he  had  received  in  the  morning,  merely  accelerated 
what  had  long  been  advancing  on  him.  We  both  anticipated  a 
speedy  fatal  issue,  and  resolved  to  take  the  earliest  opportunity 
of  acquainting  him  with  his  approaching  end. 

[He  lies  in  nearly  the  same  state  during  Thursday  and  Friday.] 

Saturday. — We  are  both  astonished   and  delighted  to  find 

that  E 's  daily  paroxysms  have  deserted  him,  at  least  he  has 

exhibited  no  symptoms  of  their  appearance  up  to  this  day.  On 
entering  the  room,  we  found,  to  our  inexpressible  satisfaction, 
that  his  disorder  had  taken  a  very  unusual  and  happy  course — 
having  been  worked  out  of  the  system  hy  fever.  This,  as  my  medi- 
cal readers  will  be  aware,  is  a  very  rare  occurrence. — [Three  or 
four  pages  of  the  Diary  are  occupied  with  technical  details,  of 
no  interest  whatever  to  the  general  reader.] — His  features  were 
soon  restored  to  their  natural  position,  and,  in  short,  every  ap- 
pearance of  palsy  left  him. 

Sunday  evening: — Mr  E going  on  well,  and  his  mental 

energies  and  speech  perfectly  restored.  I  called  on  him  alone. 
Almost  his  first  words  to  me  were,  "  Well,  doctor,  good  Mr 
Boyle  was  right,  you  see  ?  "  I  replied,  that  it  yet  remained  to 
be  proved. 

"  God  sent  me  a  noble  messenger  to  summon  me  hence,  did 
he  not  ?  One  whose  character  has  always  been  my  model,  as 
far  as  I  could  imitate  his  great  and  good  qualities." 

"  You  attach  too  much  weight,  Mr  E ,  to  that  creature 

of  imagination." 

"  What !  do  you  really  doubt  that  I  am  on  my  deathbed  ? 
I  assuredly  shall  not  recover.  The  pains  in  my  back  have  left 
me,  that  my  end  may  be  easy.  Ay,  ay,  the  '  silver  cord  is  loosed.' " 
I  enquired  about  the  sudden  cessation  of  his  chronic  complaint. 
He  said  it  had  totally  disappeared,  leaving  behind  it  only  a  sen- 
sation of  numbness.     "  In  this  instance  of  His  mercy  towards  an 


THE  MAKTTR  PHILOSOPHES. CHAPTER  XVIH.  307 

unworthy  wonn  of  the  earth,  I  devoutly  thank  my  Father — my 
God  !  "  he  exclaimed,  looking  reverentially  upward. — "  Oh,  how 
could  I,  in  patience,  have  possessed  my  soul,  if,  to  the  pains  of 
dying,  had  been  superadded  those  which  have  embittered  life! 
My  constant  prayer  to  God  has  been,  that,  if  it  be  His  will,  my 
life  may  run  out  clear  to  the  last  drop ;  and,  though  the  stream 
has  been  a  little  troubled" — alluding  to  the  intelligence  which 
had  occasioned  his  illness — "  I  may  yet  have  my  prayer  answer- 
ed. Oh,  sweet  darling  Anne!  why  should  I  grieve  for  youf 
Where  I  am  going,  I  humbly  believe  you  are !  Root  and  branch 
— both  gathered  home  !  "  He  shed  tears  abundantly,  but  spoke 
of  the  dreadful  bereavement  in  terms  of  perfect  resignation. 
*  *  *  "  You  are,  no  doubt,  acquainted,"  he 

continued,  "  with  the  other  afflicting  news,  which,  I  own,  has 
cut  me  to  the  quick  !  My  confidence  has  been  betrayed — my 
sweet  niece's  prospects  utterly  blighted,  and  I  made  a  beggar  of 
in  my  old  age.  This  ungrateful  man  has  squandered  away 
infamously  the  careful  savings  of  more  than  thirty  years — every 
penny  of  which  has  been  earned  with  the  sweat  of  my  brow.  I 
do  not  so  much  care  for  it  myself,  as  I  have  still  enough  left  to 
preserve  me  from  want  during  the  few  remaining  days  I  have 
left  me ;  but  my  poor  dear  Emma !  My  heart  aches  to  think  of  it ! " 

"  I  hope  you  may  yet  recover  some  portion  of  your  property, 

Mr  E ;  the  man  speaks  in  his  letter  of  paying  you  a  fair 

dividend." 

"  No,  no — when  once  a  man  has  deliberately  acted  in  such  an 
unprincipled  manner  as  he  has,  it  is  foolish  to  expect  resti- 
tution. Loss  of  character  and  the  confidence  of  his  benefactor, 
makes  him  desperate.  I  find  that,  should  I  linger  on  earth 
longer  than  a  few  weeks,  I  cannot  now  afibrd  to  pay  the  rent  of 
this  house — I  must  remove  from  it — I  cannot  die  in  the  house  in 
which  my  poor  wife  breathed  her  last — this  very  room  !  "  His 
tears  burst  forth  again,  and  mine  started  to  my  eyes.  "  A  friend 
is  now  looking  out  lodgings  for  me  in  the  neighbourhood,  to 
which  I  shall  remove  the  instant  my  health  will  permit.  It  goes 
to  my  heart,  to  think  of  the  bustling  auctioneer  disposing  of  all 
my  apparatus  " — tears  again  gushed  from  his  eyes — "  the  com- 
panions of  many  years  " 


308  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

"Dear,  dear  sir! — Your  friends  -will  ransack  heaven  and 
earth  before  your  fears  shall  be  verified,"  said  I,  with  emotion. 

"  They— you— are  very  good— but  you  would  be  unsuccessful! 
— You  must  think  me  very  weak  to  let  these  things  overcome 
me  in  this  way — one  can't  help  feeling  them  ! — A  man  may 
writhe  under  the  amputating  knife,  and  yet  acknowledge  the 
necessity  of  its  use  !     My  spirit  wants  disciplining." 

"  Allow  me  to  say,  Mr  E ,  that  I  think  j  ou  bear  your 

misfortunes  with  admirable  fortitude — true  philosophic" 

"  Oh,  doctor  !  doctor  ! "  he  exclaimed,  interrupting  me  with 
solemn  emphasis — "  believe  a  dying  man,  to  whom  all  this 
world's  fancied  realities  have  sunk  into  shadovis— nothing  can 
make  a  deathbed  easy,  but  eeligion — a  humble,  hearty  faith  in 
Him,  whose  Son  redeemed  mankind  !  Philosophy — science— is 
a  nothing — a  mockery — a  delusion — if  it  be  only  of  this  world  ! 
I  believe  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  and  have  long  done  so, 
that  the  essence — the  very  crown  and  glory  of  true  philosophy, 
is  to  surrender  up  the  soul  entirely  to  God's  teaching,  and  prac- 
tically receive  and  appreciate  the  consolations  of  the  gospel  of 
Jesus  Christ ! "  Oh,  the  fervency  with  which  he  expressed 
himself — his  shrunk  clasped  hands  pointed  upwards,  and  his 
features  beaming  with  devotion  !  I  told  him  it  did  my  heart 
good  to  hear  such  opinions  avowed  by  a  man  of  his  distinguished 
attainments. 

"Don't — don't — don't  talk  in  that  strain,  doctor!"  said  he, 
turning  to  me  with  a  reproving  air.  "  Could  a  living  man  but 
know  how  compliments  pall  upon  a  dying  man's  ear  i  *  *  * 
I  am  going  shortly  into  the  presence  of  Him  who  is  Wisdom 
itself ;  and  shall  I  go  pluming  myself  on  my  infinitely  less  than 
glow-worm  glimmer,  into  the  presence  of  that  pure  Effulgence? 
Doctor,  I've  felt,  latterly,  that  I  would  give  worlds  to  forget  the 
pitiful  acquirements  which  I  have  purchased  by  a  life's  labour, 
if  my  soul  might  meet  a  smile  of  approbation  when  it  first  flits 
into  the  presence  of  its  Maker — its  Judge  ! "    Strange  language! 

thought  I,  for  the  scientific  E ,  confessedly  a  master-mind 

among  men  !  Would  that  the  shoal  of  sciolists,  now  babbling 
abroad  their  infidel  crudities,  could  have  had  one  moment's  inter- 
view with  this  dying  philosopher  !     Pert  fools,  who  are  hardly 


THE  MARTYR  PHILOSOPHER. CHAPTER  XVIH.  309 

released  from  their  leading-strings — the  very  go-cart,  as  it  were, 
of  elemental  science — before  they  strut  about,  and  forthwith  pro- 
ceed to  pluck  their  Maker  by  the  beard — and  this,  as  an  evidence 
of  their  "  independence,"  and  being  released  from  the  "  trammels 
of  superstition ! " 

O  Lord  and  Maker  of  the  universe  ! — That  thou  shouldst  be 
so  "  long-suffering"  towards  these  insolent  insects  of  an  hour  ! 

To  return  :  I  left  E in  a  glowing  mood  of  mind,  disposed 

to  envy  him  his  deathbed,  even  with  all  the  ills  which  attended 
it !    Before  leaving  the  house  I  stepped  into  the  parlour  to  speak 

a  few  words  to  Miss  E .     The  sudden  illness  of  her  uncle 

had  found  its  way  into  the  papers ;  and  I  was  delighted  to  find 
it  had  brought  a  profusion  of  cards  every  morning,  many  of 
them  bearing  the  most  distinguished  names  in  Tank  and  science. 

It  showed  that  E 's  worth  was  properly  appreciated.     I 

counted  the  cards  of  five  noblemen,  and  very  many  members  of 
the  Royal,  and  other  learned  Societies. 

Wednesday,  \5th  August. — Well,  poor  E was  yesterday 

removed  from  his  house  in  Row,  where  he  had  resided 

upwards  of  twenty-five  years — which  he  had  fitted  up,  working 
often  with  his  own  hands,  at  much  trouble  and  expense — having 
built  the  laboratory-room  since  he  had  the  house  :  he  was  re- 
moved, I  say,  from  his  house,  to  lodgings  in  the  neighbourhood. 
He  has  three  rooms  on  the  first  floor,  small,  indeed,  and  in  humble 
style — but  perfectly  clean,  neat,  and  comfortable.  Was  not  this 
itself  sufficient  to  have  broken  many  a  haughty  spirit  ?  His 
extensive  philosophical  apparatus,  furniture,  &c.,  had  all  been 
sold,  at  less  than  a  twentieth  part  of  the  sum  they  had  originally 
cost  him  !     No  tidings  as  yet  have  been  received  of  the  villain 

who  has  ruined  his  generous  patron.   E has  ceased,  however, 

to  talk  of  it ;  but  I  see  that  Miss  E feels  it  acutely.     Poor 

girl,  well  she  may  !  Her  uncle  was  carried  in  a  sedan  to  his  new 
residence,  and  fainted  on  the  way,  but  has  continued  in  tolerable 
spirits  since  his  arrival.  His  conduct  is  the  admiration  of  all 
that  see  or  near  of  him !  The  first  words  he  uttered,  as  he  was 
sitting  before  the  fii'e  in  an  easy- chair,  after  recovering  a  little 
from  the  exhaustion  occasioned  by  his  being  carried  up  stairs, 


310  DIAET  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

were  to  Dr  D ,  who  had  accompanied  him.     "Well!"  he 

whispered  faintly,  with  his  eyes  shut— "  What  a  gradation ! — 

Reached  the  halfway -house  between Row  and  the  '  house 

appointed  for  all  living  !'  " 

"  You  have  much  to  bear,  sir  !"  said  Dr  D .    "  And  more 

to  be  thankful  for  !"  replied  E .    "  If  there  was  such  a  thing 

as  a  Protestant  Calendar"  said  Dr  D to  me  enthusiastically, 

while  recounting  what  is  told  above,  "  and  I  could  canonize, 

E should  stand  first  on  the  list,  and  be  my  patron  saint !" 

When  I  saw  E ,  he  was  lying  in  bed,  in  a  very  low  and  weak 

state,  evidently  declining  rapidly.  Still  he  looked  as  placid  as 
his  fallen  features  would  let  him. 

"  Doctor,"  said  he,  soon  after  I  had  sat  down,  "how  very  good 
it  is  of  you  to  come  so  far  out  of  your  regular  route  to  see  me !" 

"  Don't  name  it,"  said  I ;  "  proud  and  happy  " 

"  But,  excuse  me,  I  wish  to  tell  you  that,  when  I  am  gone, 
you  will  find  I  knew  how  to  be  grateful,  as  far  as  my  means 
would  warrant." 

"  Mr  E !  my  dear  sir  !"  said  I,  as  firmly  as  my  emotions 

could  let  me,  "  if  you  don't  promise,  this  day,  to  erase  every 
mention  of  my  name  or  services  from  your  will,  I  leave  you,  and 
solemnly  declare  I  will  never  intrude  upon  you  again !  Mr 
E ,  you  distress  me — you  do,  beyond  measure  ! " 

"  Well — well — well — I'll  obey  you— but  may  God  bless  you ! 

God  bless  you!"  he  replied,  turning  his  head  away,  while  the 

tears  trickled  down.     Indeed !  as  if  a  thousand  guineas  could 

have  purchased  the  emotions  with  which  I  felt  his  poor  damp 

fingers  feebly  compressing  my  hand  ! 

******* 

"Doctor!"  he  exclaimed,  after  I  had  been  sitting  with  him 
some  time,  conversing  on  various  subjects  connected  with  his 
illness  and  worldly  circumstances — "  don't  you  think  God  can 
speak  to  the  soul  as  well  in  a  night  as  a  day  dream  ?  Shall  I  pre- 
sume to  say  he  has  done  so  in  my  case  ?"  I  asked  him  what  he 
was  alluding  to. 

"  Don't  you  recollect  my  telling  you  of  an  optical,  or  spectral 

allusion,  which  occurred  to  me  at Row  ?    A  man  shutting 

up  the  shop — ^you  know  ?  "     I  told  him  I  did. 


THE  MARTYR  PHILOSOPHER. CHAPTER  XVIII.  311 

"  Well — ^last  night  I  dreamed — I  am  satisfied  it  was  a  dream — 
that  I  saw  Mr  Boyle  again ;  but  how  different !  Instead  of 
gloomy  clothing,  his  appearance  was  wondrously  radiant ;  and 
his  features  were  not,  as  before,  solemn,  sad,  and  fixed,  but  wore 
an  air  of  joy  and  exultation  ;  and,  instead  of  a  miserable  expiring 
taper,  he  held  aloft  a  light  like  the  kindling  lustre  of  a  star  1 
What  think  you  of  that,  doctor?  Surely,  if  both  these  are  the  delu- 
sions of  a  morbid  fancy — if  they  are,  what  a  light  they  fling  over 
the  '  dark  valley'  I  am  entering !  " 

I  hinted  my  dissent  from  the  sceptical  sneers  of  the  day,  which 
would  resolve  all  that  was  uttered  on  deathbeds  into  delirious 
rant,  confused  disordered  faculties — superstition. 

"  I  think  you  are  right,"  said  he.  "  Who  knows  what  new 
light  may  stream  upon  the  soul,  as  the  wall  between  time  and 
eternity  is  breaking  down  ?  Who  has  come  back  from  the  grave 
to  tell  us  that  the  soul's  energies  decay  with  the  body,  or  that 
the  body's  decay  destroys  or  interrupts  the  exercise  of  the  soul's 
powers,  and  that  all  a  dying  man  utters  is  mere  gibberish  ?  The 
Christian  philosopher  would  be  loath  to  do  so,  when  he  recollects 
that  God  chose  the  hour  of  death  to  reveal  futurity  to  the  patri- 
archs, and  others,  of  old  !  Do  you  think  a  superintending 
Providence  would  allow  the  most  solemn  and  instructive  period 
of  our  life,  the  close — scenes  where  men's  hearts  and  eyes  are 
open,  if  ever,  to  receive  admonition  and  encouragement — to  be 
mere  exhibitions  of  absurdity  and  weakness  ?  Is  that  the  way 
God  treats  his  servants?" 

Friday  afternoon. — In  a  more  melancholy  mood  than  usual, 
on  account  of  the  evident  distress  of  his  niece  about  her  altered 
prospects.  He  told  me,  however,  that  he  felt  the  confidence  of 
his  soul  in  no  wise  shaken.  "  I  am, "  said  he,  "  like  one  lying 
far  on  the  shores  of  eternity,  thrown  there  by  the  waters  of  the 
world,  and  whom  a  high  and  strong  wave  reaches  once  more  and 
overflows.  One  may  be  pardoned  a  sudden  chillness  and  heart- 
fluttering.  After  all,"  he  continued,  "only  consider  what  an  easy 
end  mine  is,  comparatively  with  that  of  many  others !  How  very 
— very  thankful  should  I  be  for  such  an  easy  exit  as  mine  seems 
likely  to  be !     God  be  thanked  that  I  have  to  endure  no  such 


312  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

agonies  of  horror  and  remorse  as ! "  (alluding  to  Mr , 

whom  I  was  then  attending,  and  whose  case  I  had  mentioned  on 

a  former  occasion  to  Mr  E ,  the  one  described  in  a  former 

part  of  this  Diary,  under  the  title — A  man  about  Town) — "  that 
I  am  writhing  under  no  accident — that  I  have  not  to  struggle 
with  utter  destitution  !  Why  am  I  not  left  to  perish  in  a  prison  ? 
— to  suffer  on  a  scaflFold  ? — to  be  plucked  suddenly  into  the  pre- 
sence of  my  Maker  in  battle,*  '  with  all  my  sins  upon  my  head  ?' 
Suppose  I  were  grovelling  in  the  hopeless  darkness  of  scepticism 
or  infidelity  ?  Suppose  I  were  still  to  endure  the  agonies  arising 

from  disease  in  my  spine  ? — O  God  ! "  exclaimed  Mr  E , 

"  give  me  a  more  humble  and  grateful  heart !" 

Monday,  \9th  September. — Mr  E is  still  alive,  to  the  equal 

astonishment  of  Dr  D and  myself.     The  secret  must  lie,  I 

think,  in  his  tranquil  frame  of  mind.  He  is  as  happy  as  the  day 
is  long !  Oh  !  that  my  latter  days  may  be  like  his !  I  was  lis- 
tening, with  feelings  of  delight  unutterable,  to  E 's  descrip- 
tion of  the  state  of  his  mind — the  perfect  peace  he  felt  towards 
all  mankind,  and  his  humble  and  strong  hopes  of  happiness 
hereafter — ^when  the  landlady  of  the  house  knocked  at  the  door, 

and,  on  entering,  told  Mr  E that  a  person  was  down  stairs 

very  anxious  to  see  him.     "  Who  is  it  ? "  enquired  E .  She 

did  not  know.  "  Has  he  ever  been  here  before  ?" — "  No ;"  but 
she  thought  she  had  several  times  seen  him  about  the  neighbour- 
hood.— "  What  sort  of  a  person  is  he  ?"  enquired  E ,  with  a 

surprised  air. — "  Oh,  he  is  a  tall  pale  man,  in  a  brown  great- 
coat."    E requested  her  to    go  down  and  ask  his  name. 

She  returned  and  said,  "  Mr  H ,  sir."     E ,  on  hearing 

her  utter  the  word,  suddenly  raised  himself  in  bed ;  the  little 
colour  he  had  fled  from  his  cheeks  :  he  lifted  up  his  hands  and 
exclaimed — "  What  can  the  unhappy  man  want  with  me  ?"  He 
paused  thoughtfully  for  a  few  moments.  "  You're,  of  course, 
aware  who  this  is  ?  "  he  enquired  of  me  in  a  whisper.  I  nodded. 
"  Show  him  up  stairs,"  said  he ;  and  the  woman  withdrew.  I 
helped  hastily  to  remove  him  from  his  bed  to  an  arm-chair  near 

•  This  was  at  the  time  of  the  Peniusular  Campaigu. 


THE  MARTYR  PHILOSOPHER.— CHAPTER  XVIH.  313 

the  fire.     "  For  your  own  sake,"  said  I  hurriedly,  "  I  beg  you 

to  be  calm;  don't  allow  your  feelings" 1  was  interrupted  bj-- 

the  door  opening,  and  just  such  a  person  as  Mrs  had 

described  entered,  with  a  slow  hesitating  step,  into  the  room.  He 
held  his  hat  squeezed  in  both  his  hands,  and  he  stood  for  a  few 
moments  motionless,  just  within  the  door,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on 

the  floor.     In  that  posture  he  continued  till   Mrs  had 

retired,  shutting  the  door  after  her,  when  he  turned  suddenly 

towards  the  easy-chair  by  the  tire,  in  which  Mr  E was 

sitting,  much  agitated — approached,  and,  falling  down  on  his 
knees,  covered  his  eyes  with  his  hands,  through  which  the  tears 
presently  fell  like  rain ;  and,  after  many  sobs  and  sighs,  he 
faltered,  "  Oh,  Mr  E !" 

"  What  do  you  want  with  me,  Mr  H ? "  enquired  Mr 

E ,  in  a  low  tone,  but  very  calmly. 

"  Oh !  kind,  good,  abused  sir  !  I  have  behaved  like  a  villain 
to  you" 

"  Mr  H ,  I  beg  you  will  not  distress  me ;  consider  I  am 

in  a  very  podr  and  weak  state." 

"  Don't,  for  God's  sake,  speak  so  coldly,  sir.  I  am  heart- 
broken to  think  how  shamefully  I  have  used  you  !" 

"Well,  then,  strive  to  amend" 

"  Oh,  dear,  good  Mr  E !  can   you  forgive  me  ? "  Mr 

E did  not  answer.     I  saw  he  could  not.     The  tears  were 

nearly  overflowing.  The  man  seized  his  hand,  and  pressed  it  to 
his  lips  with  fervency. 

"  Rise,  Mr  H ,  rise !  I  do  forgive  you,  and  I  hope  that 

God  will !  Seek  his  forgiveness,  which  will  avail  you  more  than 
mine  !  " 

"  Oh,  sir ! "  exclaimed  the  man,  again  covering  his  eyes  with 
his  hands — "  How  very — vert  ill  you  look — how  pale  and  thin ! 
— It's  I  that  have  done  it  all — I,  the  d dest" 

"  Hush,  hush,  sir  ! "  exclaimed  Mr  E ,  with  more  stern- 
ness than  I  had  ever  seen  him  exhibit,  "  do  not  curse  in  a  dying 
man's  room." 

"  Dying — dying — dying,  sir!"  exclaimed  the  man  hoarsely, 
staring  horror-struck  at  Mr  E ,  and  retiring  a  step  from  him. 

"Yes,  James,"  replied  E mildly,  calling  him  for  the 


314  DIAET  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

first  time  by  his  Christian  name,  "  I  am  assuredly  dying — ^but 
not  through  you,  or  any  thing  you  have  done.  Come,  come, 
don't  distress  yourself  unnecessarily,"  ho  continued  in  the  kindest 
tones ;  for  he  saw  the  man  continued  deadly  pale,  speechless,  and 
clasping  his  hands  convulsively  over  his  breast — "  Consider, 
James,  the  death  of  my  daughter,  Mrs ." 

"  Oh  no,  no,  no,  sir — no !  It's  I  that  have  done  it  all ;  my 
ingratitude  has  broken  j'our  heart — I  know  it  has ! — What  wiU 
become  of  me  ?" — the  man  resumed,  still  staring  vacantly  at  Mr 
E . 

"  James,  I  must  not  be  agitated  in  this  way — it  destroys  me 
— ^you  must  leave  the  room,  unless  you  can  become  calm.  What 
is  done,  is  done  ;  and  if  you  really  repent  of  it" 

"  Oh  !  I  do,  sir ;  and  could  almost  weep  tears  of  blood  for  it ! 
But  indeed,  sir,  it  has  been  as  much  my  misfortune  as  my 
fault." 

"  Was  it  your  misfortune,  or  your  fault,  that  you  kept  that 
infamous  woman,  on  whom  you  have  squandered  so  much  of 

your  property — of  mine  rather?"  enquired  Mr  E ,  with  a 

mild,  expostulating  air.  The  man  suddenly  blushed  scarlet, 
and  continued  silent. 

"  It  is  right  I  should  tell  you  that  it  is  your  misconduct  which 
has  turned  me  out  in  my  old  age,  from  the  house  which  has 
.sheltered  me  all  my  life,  and  driven  me  to  die  in  this  poor  place! 
You  have  beggared  my  niece,  and  robbed  me  of  all  the  hard 
earnings  of  my  life— wrung  from  the  sweat  of  my  brow,  as  you 
well  know,  James.  How  could  your  heart  let  you  do  all  this  ?" 
The  man  made  him  no  answer.  "  I  am  not  angry  with  you— 
that  is  past ;  but  I  am  grieved— disappointed — shocked— to  find 
my  confidence  in  you  has  been  so  much  abused." 

"  Oh,  sir !  I  don't  know  what  it  was  that  infatuated  me :  but 
— never  trust  a  living  man  again,  sir — never,"  replied  the  man 
vehemently. 

"  It  is  not  likely  that  I  shall,  James— I  shall  not  have  the 

opportunity,"  said  Mr  E calmly.    The  man's  eye  continued 

fixed  on  Mr  E ,  his  lip  quivered  in  spite  of  his  violent  com- 
pression, and  the  fluctuating  colour  in  his  cheeks  showed  the 
agitation  he  was  suflTering. 


THE  MARTTK  PHILOSOPHER. CHAPTER  XVIII.  315 

"  Do  you  forgive  me,  sir,  for  what  I  have  done  ?  "  he  asked, 
almost  inaudibly. 

"  Yes — if  you  promise  to  amend — yes  !  Here  is  my  hand — 
I  DO  forgive  you,  as  I  hope  for  my  own  forgiveness  hereafter! " 
said  Mr  E ,  reaching  out  his  hand.  "  And  if  your  repent- 
ance is  sincere,  remember,  should  it  ever  be  in  your  power, 
whom  you  have  most  heavily  wronged — not  me,  but — but — Miss 

E ,  my  poor  niece.     If  you  should  ever  be  able  to  make  her 

any  reparation" the  tears  stood  in  Mr  E 's  ej'es,  and  his 

emotions  prevented  his  completing  the  sentence.  "  Really,  you 
must  leave  me,  James — you  must — I  am  too  weak  to  bear  this 
scene  any  longer,"  said  E faintly,  looking  deadly  pale. 

"  You  had  better  withdraw,  sir,  and  call  some  other  time," 
said  I.  He  rose,  looking  almost  bewildered ;  thrust  his  hand 
into  his  breastpocket,  and  taking  out  a  small  packet,  laid  it  hur- 
riedly on  Mr  E 's  lap — snatched  his  hand  to  his  lips,  and 

murmuring,  "Farewell,  farewell,  best — most  injured  of  men!" 
withdrew.  I  watched  him  through  the  window  ;  and  saw  that, 
as  soon  as  he  had  left  tlie  house,  he  set  off,  running  almost  at 

the  top  of  his  speed.  When  I  returned  to  look  at  Mr  E ,  he 

had  fainted.  He  had  opened  the  packet,  and  a  letter  lay  open 
in  his  lap,  with  a  great  many  bank-notes.  The  letter  ran  as 
follows: — "Injured  and  revered  sir,* — When  you  read  this 
epistle,  the  miserable  writer  will  have  fled  from  his  country,  and 
be  on  his  way  to  America.  He  has  abused  the  confidence  of 
one  of  the  greatest  and  best  of  men,  but  hopes  the  enclosed  sum 
will  show  he  repented  what  he  had  done!     If  it  is  ever  in  his 

power  he  will  do  more.     J H ."     The  packet  contained 

bank-notes  to  the  amount  of  £3000.  When  E had  recovered 

from  his  swoon,  I  had  him  conveyed  to  bed,  where  he  lay  in  a 
state  of  great  exhaustion.  He  scarcely  spoke  a  syllable  during 
the  time  I  continued  with  him. 

Tuesday. — Mr  E still  suffers  from  the  effects  of  yester- 
day's excitement.    It  has,  I  am  confident,  hurried  him  far  on  his 

*  "Vous  queje  venire  et  quej'ai  tant  outrage" — says  the  French  Translator; 
addmg,  in  an  amusing  note — "Revered  and  much  injured  sir.  Cette  expression 
pathetique  et  simple  n'a  point  de  correlatifF  en  Franyais. — Reverb  et  tres-offente 
tnomieurt'  ^c. 


316  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

journey  to  the  grave.  He  told  me  he  had  been  turning  over 
the  affair  in  his  mind,  and  considered  that  it  would  be  wrong 
in  him  to  retain  the  £3000,  as  it  would  be  illegal,  and  a  fraud 

on  H 's  other  creditors ;  and  this  upright  man  had  actually 

sent  in  the  morning  for  the  solicitor  to  the  bankrupt's  assignees, 
and  put  the  whole  into  his  hands,  telling  him  of  the  circum- 
stances under  which  he  had  received  it,  and  asking  him  whether 
he  should  not  be  wrong  in  keeping  it.  The  lawyer  told  him  that 
he  might  perhaps  be  legally,  but  not  morally  wrong,  as  the  law 
certainly  forbade  such  payments ;  and  yet  he  was  by  very  far  the 

largest  creditor.     "  Let  me  act  rightly,  then,"  said  Mr  E , 

"  in  the  sight  of  God  and  man !    Take  the  money,  and  let  me 

come  in  with  the  rest  of  the  creditors."     Mr withdrew. 

He  must  have  seen  but  seldom  such  an  instance  of  noble  con- 
scientiousness!    I  remonstrated  with  Mr  E .     "  No,   no, 

doctor,"  he  replied ;  "  I  have  endeavoured  strictly  to  do  my 
duty  during  life — I  will  not  begin  roguery  on  my  deathbed ! " 

"  Possibly  you  may  not  receive  a  penny  in  the  pound,  Mr 
E ,"  said  I. 

"  But  I  shall  have  the  comfort  of  quitting  life  with  a  clear 

conscience ! " 

******* 

Monday — (a  week  afterwards.) — The  "  weary  wheels  of  life  " 

will  soon  "  stand  still ! "   All  is  calm  and  serene  with  E as 

a  summer  evening's  sunset !  He  is  at  peace  with  all  the  world, 
and  with  his  God.     It  is  like  entering  the  porch  of  heaven,  and 

listening  to  an  angel,  to  visit  and  converse  with  E .    This 

morning  he  received  the  reward  of  his  noble  conduct  in  the 

matter  of  H 's  bankruptcy.     The  assignees  have  wound  up 

the  affairs,  and  found  them  not  nearly  so  desperate  as  had  been 

apprehended.    The  business  was  still  to  be  carried  on  in  H 's 

name;  and  the  solicitor,  who  had  been  sent  for  by  E to 

receive  the  £3000  in  behalf  of  the  assignees,  called  this  morn- 
ing with  a  cheque  for  £3500,  and  a  highly  complimentary  letter 
from  the  assignees.  They  informed  him  that  there  was  every 
prospect  of  the  concern's  yet  discharging  the  heavy  amount  of 
his  claim,  and  that  they  would  see  to  its  being  paid  to  whom- 
soever he  might  appoint.     H had  set  sail  for  America  the 


THE  MAKTTR  PHILOSOPHEK. CHAPTER    XVllI.  317 

very  day  he  had  called  on  E ,  and  had  left  word  that  he  should 

never  return.  E altered  his  will  this  evening  in  the  pre- 
sence of  myself  and  Dr  D .     He  left  about  £4000  to  his 

niece,  "  and  whatever  sums  might  be  from  time  to  time  paid  in 

from  H 's  business;"  five  guineas  for  a  yearly  prize  to  the 

writer  of  the  best  summary  of  the  progress  of  philosophy  every 
year,  in  one  of  the  Scotch  colleges;  and  ten  pounds  to  be 
delivered  every  Christmas  to  ten  poor  men,  as  long  as  they 
lived,  and  who  had  already  received  the  gratuity  for  several 

years ;    "  and  to  J H ,  my  full  and  hearty  forgiveness, 

and  prayers  to  God  that  he  may  return  to  a  course  of  virtue 
and  true  piety,  before  it  is  too  late."     *     *     *     "  How  is  it," 

said  he,  addressing  Dr  D and  me,  "  that  you  have  neither 

of  you  said  any  thing  to  me  about  examining  my  body  after  my 

decease  ? "    Dr  D replied,  that  he  had  often  thought  of 

asking  his  permission,  but  had  kept  delaying  from  day  to  day. 

"  Why  ?  "  enquired  E ,  with  a  smile  of  surprise ;  "  do  you 

fancy  I  have  any  silly  fears  or  prejudices  on  the  subject — that  I 
am  anxious  about  the  shell  when  the  kernel  is  gone  ?  I  can 
assure  you  that  it  would  rather  give  me  pleasure  than  otherwise 
to  think  that,  by  an  examination  of  my  body,  the  cause  of 
medical  science  might  be  advanced,  and  so  I  might  minister  a 
little  to  my  species.  I  must,  however,  say  you  nay  ;  for  I  pro- 
mised my  poor  wife  that  I  would  forbid  it.  She  had  prejudices, 
and  I  have  a  right  to  respect  them." 

Wednesday. — He  looked  much  reduced  this  evening.  I  had 
hurried  to  his  lodgings,  to  communicate  what  I  considered 
would  be  the  gratifying  intelligence,  that  the  highest  prize  of  a 
foreign  learned  society  had  just  been  awarded  him,  for  his  work 

on ,  together  with  a  fellowship.     My  hurried  manner 

somewhat  discomposed  him ;  and  before  I  had  communicated 
my  news,  he  asked,  with  some  agitation,  "  What ! — Some  new 
misfortune  ?  "  WTien  I  had  told  him  my  errand — "  Oh,  bubble  ! 
bubble  !  bubble !  "  he  exclaimed,  shaking  his  head  with  a  melan- 
choly smile ;  "  would  I  not  give  a  thousand  of  these  for  a  poor 
man's  blessing  ?  Are  these,  these.,  the  trifles  men  toil  through  a 
life  for  ?     Oh !  if  it  had  pleased  God  to  give  me  a  single  glimpse 


318  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

of  what  I  now  see,  thirty  years  ago,  how  true  an  estimate  I  should 
have  formed  of  the  littleness — the  vanity — of  human  applause ! 
How  much  happier  would  my  end  have  been !  How  much 
nearer  should  I  have  come  to  the  character  of  a  true  philosopher 
an  impartial,  independent,  sincere  searcher  after  truth,  for  its 
own  sake ! " 

"  But  honours  of  this  kind  are  of  admirable  service  to  science 
Mr  E ,"  said  I,  "  as  supplying  strong  incentives  and  stimu- 
lants to  a  pursuit  of  philosophy." 

"  Yes ;  but  does  it  not  argue  a  defect  in  the  constitution  of 
men's  minds  to  require  them  ?  What  is  the  use  of  stimulants 
in  medicine,  doctor  ?  Don't  they  presuppose  a  morbid  sluggish- 
ness in  the  parts  they  are  applied  to  ?  Do  you  ever  stimulate  a 
healthy  organ  ?  So  is  it  with  the  little  honours  and  distinctions 
we  are  speaking  of.  Directly  a  man  becomes  anxiovs  about  ob- 
taining them,  his  mind  has  lost  its  healthy  tone — its  sympathies 
with  truth — with  real  philosophy." 

"  Would  you,  then,  discourage  striving  for  them  ?  Would 
you  banish  honours  and  prizes  from  the  scientific  world  ?  " 

"  Assuredly — altogether — did  we  but  exist  in  a  better  state  of 
society  than  we  do.  *  *  *  What  is  the 

proper  spirit  in  which,  as  matters  at  present  stand,  a  philosopher 
should  accept  of  honours  ? — Merely  as  evidences,  testimonials,  to 
the  multitude  of  those  who  are  otherwise  incapable  of  apprecia- 
ting his  merits,  and  would  set  him  down  as  a  dreamer,  a  visionary 
— but  that  they  saw  the  estimation  in  which  he  was  held  by 
those  who  are  likely  to  canvass  his  claims  strictly.  They  com- 
pel the  deference,  if  not  respect,  of  the  0/  ■TiroK'koi.  A  philoso- 
pher ought  to  receive  them,  therefore,  as  it  were,  in  self-defence 
— a  shut  mouth  to  babbling,  envious  gainsayers.  Were  all  the 
world  philosophers,  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  not  merely 
would  honours  be  unnecessary,  but  an  insult — areproach.  Direct- 
ly a  philosopher  is  conscious  that  the  love  of  fame,  the  ambition 
to  secure  such  distinctions,  is  gradually  interweaving  itself  with 
the  very  texture  of  his  mind — that  such  considerations  are  be- 
coming necessary  in  any  degree  to  prompt  him  to  undertake  or 
prosecute  scientific  pursuits — he  may  write  ichabod  on  the  door 
of  his  soul's  temple,  for  the  glory  is  departed.     His  motives  are 


THE  MARTTK  PHLLOSOPHER. CHAPTER  XVIH.  319 

spurious,  his  fires  false !  To  the  exact  extent  of  the  necessity  for 
such  motives  is,  as  it  were,  the  pure  ore  of  his  soul  adulterated. 
Minerva's  jealous  eyes  can  detect  the  slightest  vacillation  or  in- 
consistency in  her  votaries,  and  discover  her  rival  even  before 
the  votary  himself  is  sensible  of  her  existence  ;  and  withdraws 
from  her  faithless  admirer  in  cold  disdain,  perhaps  never  to 
return. 

"  Do  you  think  that  Archimedes,  Plato,  or  Sir  Ir.aac  Newton, 
would  have  cared  a  straw  for  even  royal  honours  ?  The  true 
test,  believe  me — the  almost  infallible  criterion — of  a  man's  hav- 
ing attained  to  real  greatness  of  mind — to  the  true  philosophic 
temper — is,  his  indifference  to  all  sorts  of  honours  and  distinc- 
tions. Why — what  seeks  he — or,  at  least,  professes  to  seek — 
but  Truth  ?  Is  he  to  stop  in  the  race,  to  look  with  Atalanta 
after  the  golden  apples  ? 

"  He  should  endure  honours,  not  go  out  of  his  way  to  seek 
them.  If  one  apple  hitch  in  his  vest,  he  may  carry  it  with  him, 
not  stop  to  dislodge  it.  Scientific  distinctions  are  absolutely 
necessary  in  the  present  state  of  society,  because  it  is  defective. 
A  mei-e  ambitious  struggle  for  college  honours,  through  rivalry, 
has  induced  many  a  man  to  enter  so  far  upon  philosophical 
studies,  as  that  their  charms,  unfolding  in  proportion  to  his  pro- 
gress, have  been,  of  themselves,  at  last  sufficient  to  prevail  upon 
him  to  go  onwards — to  love  Science  for  herself  alone.  Honours 
make  a  man  open  his  eyes,  who  would  else  have  gone  to  his 
grave  with  them  shut :  and  when  once  he  has  seen  the  divinity 
of  truth,  he  laughs  at  obstacles,  and  follows  it  through  evil  and 
through  good  report — if  his  soul  be  properly  constituted — if  it 
have  any  of  the  nobler  sympathies  of  our  nature.     That  is 

ray  homily  on  honours"  said  E ,  with  a  faint  smile.     "  I  have 

not  wilfully  preached  and  practised  different  things,  I  assure 
you,"  he  continued,  with  a  modest  air;  "but,  through  life,  have 
striven  to  act  upon  these  principles.  Still,  I  never  saw  so  clearly 
as  at  this  moment  how  small  my  success  has  been — to  what  an 
extent  I  have  been  influenced  by  undue  motives — as  far  as  an 
overvaluing  of  the  world's  honours  may  be  so  considered.  Now, 
methinks,  I  see  through  no  such  magnifying  medium  ;  the  mists 
and  vapours  are  dispersing ;  and  I  begin  to  see  that  these  ob- 


320  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

jects  are  in  themselves  little,  even  to  nothingness.    The  general 

retrospect  of  my  life  is  far  from  satisfactory,"  continued  E 

with  a  sigh,  "  and  fills  me  with  real  sorrow !  "  "  Why  ?  "  I  en- 
quired, with  surprize.  "  Why,  for  this  one  reason— because  I 
have,  in  a  measure,  sacrificed  my  religion  to  philosophy !  Oh ! 
will  my  Maker  thus  be  put  off  with  the  mere  lees,  the  refuse  of 
my  time  and  energies  ?  For  one  hour  in  the  day  that  I  have 
devoted  to  Him,  have  I  not  given  twelve  or  fourteen  to  my  own 
pursuits  ?  W^hat  shall  I  say  of  this  shortly — in  a  few  hours— 
perhaps  moments — when  I  stand  suddenly  in  the  presence  of 
God — when  I  see  him  face  to  face !  Oh,  doctor,  my  heart  sinks 
and  sickens  at  the  thought !  Shall  I  not  be  speechless,  as  one  of 
old?" 

I  told  him  I  thought  he  was  unnecessarily  severe  with  him- 
self— that  he  "  wrote  bitter  things  against  himself." 

"  I  thought  so  once,  nay  all  my  life,  myself,  doctor,"  said  he 
solemnly — "  but  mark  my  words,  as  those  of  a  dying  man — you 
will  think  as  I  do  now,  when  you  come  to  be  in  my  circum- 
stances ! " 

The  above,  feebly  conveyed  perhaps  to  the  reader,  may  be 
considered  "  the  last  wokds  of  a  philosophee  ! "  *  They 
made  an  impression  on  my  mind  which  has  never  been  efiFaced; 

and,  I  trust,  never  will.    The  reader  need  not  suspect  Mr  E 

of  "  prosing."  The  sentiments  I  have  here  endeavoured  to 
record  were  uttered  with  no  pompous  pedantry  of  manner,  but 
with  the  simplest,  most  modest  air,  and  in  the  most  silvery  tones 
of  voice  I  ever  listened  to.  He  often  paused,  from  faintness; 
and,  at  the  conclusion,  his  voice  grew  almost  inaudible,  and  he 
wiped  the  thick-standing  dews  ffom  his  forehead.  He  begged 
me  in  a  low  whisper  to  kneel  down,  and  read  him  one  of  the 
church  praj'ers — the  one  appointed  for  those  in  prospect  of 
death :  I  took  down  the  prayer-book  and  complied,  though  my 
emotions  would  not  suflPer  me  to  speak  in  more  than  an  often- 
interrupted  whisper.  He  lay  perfectly  silent  throughout  with 
his  clasped  hands  pointing  upwards ;  and,  when  I  had  concluded, 

•  "  Les  dernidres  paroles  du  philosophe  furent  consacrfos  4  combattre  re 
ej'steme  qui  change  I'arene  scientifique  en  une  artoe  de  gladiateurs,"  &c.— 
French  Truns'ator. 


THE  MARTYR  PHILOSOPHER. CHAPTER  XVIII.  321 

he  responded  feebly  but  fervently,  "Amen — -Amen!"  and  the 
tears  gushed  down  his  cheeks.  My  heart  was  melted  within 
me.  The  silk  cap  had  slipped  from  his  head,  and  his  long,  loose, 
silvery  hair  streamed  over  his  bed-dress:  his  appearance  was 
that  of  a  dying  prophet  of  old ! 

I  fear,  however,  that  I  am  going  on  at  too  great  length  for 
the  reader's  patience,  and  must  pause.  For  my  own  part,  I 
could  linger  over  the  remembrances  of  these  solemn  scenes  for 
ever  :  but  I  shall  hasten  on  to  the  "  last  scene  of  all."  It  did 
not  take  place  till  near  a  fortnight  after  the  interview  above 
narrated.  His  manner  during  that  time  evinced  no  tumultuous 
ecstasies  of  soul;  none  of  the  boisterous  extravagance  of  enthu- 
siasm. His  departure  was  like  that  of  the  sun,  sinking  gradu- 
ally and  finally,  lower — lower — lower — no  sudden  upflashings — 
no  quivering — no  flickering  unsteadiness  about  his  fading  rays ! 

Tuesday,  IZih  October. — Miss  E sent  word  that  her  uncle 

appeared  dying,  and  had  expressed  a  wish  to  see  both  Dr  D 

and  me.    I  therefore  dispatched  a  note  to  Dr  D ,  requesting 

him  to  meet  me  at  a  certain  place,  and  then  hurried  through 
my  list  of  calls,  so  as  to  have  finished  by  three  o'clock.  By 
four,  we  -were  both  in  the  room  of  the  dying  philosopher.     Miss 

E sat  by  his  bedside,  her  eyes  swollen  with  weeping,  and 

was  in  the  act  of  kissing  her  uncle's  cheek  when  we  entered. 

Mr  F ,  an  exemplary  clergyman,  who  had  been  one  of  E 's 

earliest  and  dearest  friends,  sat  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  with  it 
copy  of  Jeremy  Taylor's  Huhj  Living  and  Dyiiig,  from  which  he 
was  reading  in  a  low  tone,  at  the  request  of  E .  The  ap- 
pearance of  the  latter  was  very  interesting.  At  his  own 
instance,  he  had,  not  long  before,  been  shaved,  washed,  and 
had  a  change  of  linen;  and  the  bed  was  also  but  recently  made, 
and  was  not  at  all  tumbled  or  disordered.  The  mournful 
tolling  of  the  church-bell  for  a  funeral  was  also  heard  at  in- 
tervals, and  added  to  the  solemnity  of  tlie  scene.  I  have  seldom 
felt  in  such  a  state  of  excitement  as  I  was  on  first  enter- 
ing the  room.  He  shook  hands  with  each  of  us,  or  rather 
we  shook  his  hands,  for  he  could  hardly  lift  them  from  the  bed. 

I  X 


322  DIARY  OF    A.  LATE  PHTSICI4N. 

"  Well — thank  you  for  coming  to  bid  me  farewell !  "  said  he 

with  a  smile ;  adding  presently,  "  Will  you  allow  Mr  F 

to  proceed  with  what  he  is  reading  ?  "     Of  course  we  nodded, 

and  sat  in  silence  listening.     I  watched  E 's  features ;  they 

were  much  wasted  —  but  exhibited  no  traces  of  pain.  His 
eye,  though  rather  sunk  in  the  socket,  was  full  of  the  calm- 
ness and  confidence  of  unwavering  hope,  and  often  directed 
upwards,  with  a  devout  expression.  A  most  heavenly  serenity 
was  diffused  over  his  countenance.   His  lips  occasionally  moved, 

as  if  in  the  utterance  of  prayer.     When  Mr  F had  closed 

the  book,  the  first  words  uttered  by  E were,  "  Oh !  the 

infinite  goodness  of  God ! " 

"Do  you  feel  that  your  'anchor  is  within  the  veil?'" 
enquired  F . 

"  Oh ! — yes — yes  ! — My  vessel  is  steadily  moored — the  tide 
of  life  goes  fast  away — I  am  forgetting  that  I  ever  sailed  on  its 
sea ! "  replied  E ,  closing  his  eyes. 

"  The  star  of  faith  shines  clearest  in  the  night  of  expirmg 
nature  ! "  exclaimed  F . 

"  The  Sun — the  Sun  of  faith,  say  rather,"  rephed  E ,  in 

a  tone  of  fervent  exultation  ;  "  it  turns  my  night  into  day— it 
warms   my   soul  —  it  rekindles   my  energies! — Sun — Sun  of 

Righteousness ! "  he  exclaimed  faintly.     Miss  E kissed  him 

repeatedly  with  deep  emotion.  "  Emma,  my  love ! "  he  whis- 
pered, "  hope  thou  in  God !  See  how  he  will  support  thee  in 
death!"— She  burst  into  tears.— "Will  you  promise  me,  love, 
to  read  the  little  Bible  I  gave  you,  when  I  am  gone— especially 
the  New  Testament  ?— Do — do,  love." 

"  I  will — I" ,  replied  Miss  E ,  almost  choked  with 

her  emotions.     She  could  say  no  more. 

"  Dr ,"  he  addressed  me,  "  I  feel  more  towards  you  than 

lean  express;  your  services — services" he  grew  very  pale 

and  faint.  I  rose  and  poured  out  a  glass  of  wine,  and  put  it  to 
his  lips.     He  drank  a  few  teaspoonfuls,  and  it  revived  him. 

"  Well ! "  he  exclaimed,  in  a  stronger  voice  than  I  had  before 
heard  him  speak ;  "  I  thank  God  I  leave  the  world  in  perfect 
peace  with  all  mankind !  There  is  but  one  thing  that  grieves 
me,  in  these  my  last  thoughts  on  life— the  general  neglect  of 


THE  MAETYR  PHILOSOPHER. — CHAPTER  XVIII.  323 

religion  among  men  of  science."     Dr  D said  it  must  afford 

him  great  consolation  to  reflect  on  the  steadfast  regard  for  religion 
which  he  himself  had  ahyays  evidenced.  "  No,  no — I  have  gone 
nearly  as  far  astray  as  any  of  them ;  but  God's  rod  has  brought 
me  back  again.  I  thank  God  devoutly  that  he  ever  afflicted 
me  as  I  have  been  afflicted  through  life — He  knows  I  do!" 
*  *  *  Some  one  mentioned  the  prevalence  of 

Materialism.  He  lamented  it  bitterly ;  but  assured  us  that  seve- 
ral of  the  most  eminent  men  of  the  age — naming  them — believed 
firmly  in  the  immateriality  and  immortality  of  the  human  soul. 

"  Do  you  feel  firmly  convinced  of  it,  on  natural  and  philoso- 
phical grounds  ?  "  enquired  Dr  D . 

"  I  do ;  and  have,  ever  since  I  instituted  an  enquiry  on  the 
subject.  I  think  the  difficulty  is  to  believe  the  reverse — when 
it  is  owned,  on  all  hands,  that  nothing  in  Nature's  changes  sug- 
gests the  idea  of  annihilation.  I  own  that  doubts  have  very 
often  crossed  my  mind  on  the  subject,  but  could  never  see  the 
reason  of  them." 

"  But  your  confidence  does  not  rest  on  the  barren  grounds  of 
reason,"  said  I ;  "  you  believe  in  Him  who  brought  '  life  and 
immortality'  into  the  world." 

"  Yes — '  Thanks  be  to  God,  who  giveth  us  the  victory  through 
our  Lord  Jesus  Christ ! '  " 

"  Do  you  never  feel  a  pang  of  regret  at  leaving  life  ? "  I 
enquired. 

"  No,  no,  no  ! "  he  replied  with  emphasis !  "  Life  and  I  are 
grown  unfit  for  each  other !  My  sympathies,  my  hopes,  my 
joys,  are  too  large  for  it !  Why  should  I,  just  got  into  the 
haven,  think  of  risking  shipwreck  again  ?  " 

******* 

He  lay  still  for  nearly  twenty  minutes  without  speaking.  His 
breathing  was  evidently  accomplished  with  great  difficulty ;  and 
when  his  eyes  occasionally  fixed  on  any  of  us,  we  perceived  that 
their  expression  was  altered.  He  did  not  seem  to  see  what  he 
looked  at.  I  noticed  his  fingers,  also,  slowly  twitching  or 
scratching  the  bed-clothes.  StUl  the  expression  of  his  features 
was  calm  and  tranquil  as  ever.  He  was  murmuring  something 
in  Miss  E 's  ear;  and  she  whispered  to  us  that  he  said, 


S24  DIAEY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

"  Don't  go — /  shall  want  you  at  six."     Within  about  a  quarter 

of  six  o'clock,  he  enquired  where  Emma  was,  and  Dr  D , 

and  Mr  F -,  and  myself.     We  severally  answered  that  we  sat 

around  him. 

"  I  have  not  seen  you  for  the  last  twenty  minutes.  Shake 
hands  with  me ! "  We  did.  "  Emma,  my  sweet  love ! — put 
your  arm  round  my  neck — I  am  cold,  very  cold."  Her  tears 
fell  fast  on  his  face.  "  Don't  cry,  love,  don't — I  am  quite  happy! 
God — God  bless  you,  love ! " 

His  lower  jaw  began  to  droop  a  little. 

Mr  r ,  moved  almost  to  tears,  rose  from  his  chair,  and 

noiselessly  kneeled  down  beside  him. 

"  Have  faith  in  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ !"  he  exclaimed,  look- 
ing steadfastly  into  his  face. 

"  I  DO ! "  he  answered  distinctly,  while  a  faint  smile  stole  over 
his  drooping  features. 

"  Let  us  pray !"  whispered  Mr  F ;  and  we  all  knelt  down 

in  silence.  I  was  never  so  overpowered  in  my  life.  I  thought 
I  should  have  been  choked  with  suppressing  my  emotions.     "  0 

Lord,  our  heavenly  Father ! "  commenced  Mr  F ,  in  a  low 

tone,  "  receive  Thou  the  spirit  of  this  our  dying  brother" . 

E slowly  elevated  his   left   hand,   and   kept  it  pointing 

upwards  for  a  few  moments,  when  it  suddenly  dropped,  and  a 
long,  deep  respiration  announced  that  this  great  and  good  man 
had  breathed  his  last ! 

No  one  in  the  room  spoke  or  stirred  for  several  minutes ;  and 
I  almost  thought  I  could  hear  the  beatings  of  our  hearts.  He 
died  within  a  few  moments  of  six  o'clock.  Yes — there  lay  the 
sad  effigy  of  our  deceased  "guide,  philosopher,  and  friend"— 
and  yet,  why  call  it  sad  ?  I  could  detect  no  trace  of  sadness  in 
his  features.  He  had  left  the  world  in  peace  and  joy ;  he  had 
lived  well,  and  died  as  he  had  lived.  I  can  now  appreciate  the 
force  of  that  prayer  of  one  of  old — "  Let  me  die  the  death  of  the 
righteous,  and  let  my  last  end  be  like  his ! " 


There  was  some  talk  among  his  friends  of  erecting  a  tablet 


THE  STATESMAN. CHAPTER  XIX.  325 

to  his  memory  in  Westminster  Abbey ;  but  it  lias  been  dropped. 
We  soon  lose  the  recollection  of  departed  excellence,  if  it  require 
any  thing  like  active  exertion. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


Ambition  ! — Its  sweets  and  bitters — its  splendid  miseries — ^its 
wrinkling  cares — its  wasting  agonies — its  triumphs  and  down- 
falls— who  has  not,  in  some  degree,  known  and  felt  them  ? 
Moralists,  historians,  and  novelists,  have  filled  libraries  in  pic- 
turing their  dreary  yet  dazzling  details ;  nevertheless.  Ambition's 
votaries,  or  rather  victims,  are  as  numerous,  as  enthusiastic,  as 
ever ! 

Such  is  the  mounting  quality  existing  in  almost  every  one's 
breast,  that  no  "  Pelion  upon  Ossa"  heapings,  and  accumulations 
of  facts  and  lessons,  can  keep  it  down.  Fully  as  I  feel  the  truth 
of  this  remark,  vain  and  futile  though  the  attempt  may  prove,  I 
cannot  resist  the  inclination  to  contribute  my  mite  towards  the 
vast  memorials  of  Ambition's  martyrs ! 

My  specific  purpose  in  first  making  the  notes  from  which  the 
ensuing  narrative  is  taken,  and  in  now  presenting  it  to  the  public 
— in  thus  pointing  to  the  spectacle  of  a  sun  suddenly  and  disas- 
trously eclipsed  while  blazing  at  its  zenith — is  this  :  To  show  the 
steps  by  which  a  really  great  mind — an  eager  and  impetuous 
spirit  —  was  voluntarily  sacrificed  at  the  shrine  of  political 
ambition :  foregoing,  nay,  despising  the  substantial  joys  and 
comforts  of  elegant  privacy,  and  persisting,  even  to  destruction, 
in  its  frantic  efforts  to  bear  up  against,  and  grapple  with  cares 
too  mighty  for  the  mind  of  man.  It  is  a  solemn  lesson,  imprinted 
on  my  memory  in  great  and  glaring  characters  ;  and  if  I  do  but 
succeed  in  bringing  a  few  of  them  before  the  reader,  they  may 
serve  at  least  to  check  extravagant  expectations,  by  disclosing 
the  misery  which  often  lies  cankering  behind  the  most  splendid 


S26  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

popularity.  If,  by  the  way,  I  should  be  found  inaccurate  in  my 
use  of  political  technicalities  and  allusions,  the  reader  will  be 
pleased  to  overlook  it,  on  the  score  of  my  profession. 

I  recollect,  when  at  Cambridge,  overhearing  some  men  of  my 
college  talk  about  the  "splendid  talents  of  young  Stafford,"* 

who  had  lately  become  a  member  of Hall ;  and  they  said  so 

much  about  the  "great  hit"  he  had  made  in  his  recent  debut  at 
one  of  the  debating  societies — which  then  flourished  in  consider- 
able numbers — that  I  resolved  to  take  the  earliest  opportunity  of 
going  to  hear  and  judge  for  myself.  That  was  soon  afforded  me. 
Though  not  a  member  of  this  society,  I  gained  admission  through 
a  friend. .  The  room  was  crammed  to  the  very  door ;  and  I  was 
not  long  in  discovering  the  "  star  of  the  evening"  in  the  person 
of  a  young  feUow-commoner,  of  careless  and  even  slovenly 
appearance.  The  first  glimpse  of  his  features  disposed  me  to 
believe  all  I  had  heard  in  his  favour.  There  was  no  sitting  for 
effect ;  nothing  artificial  about  his  demeanour — no  careful  care- 
lessness of  attitude^no  knitting  of  the  brows,  or  painful  straining 
of  the  eyes,  to  look  brilliant  or  acute  !  The  mere  absence  of  all 
these  little  conceits  and  fooleries,  so  often  disfiguring  "  talented 
young  speakers,"  went,  in  my  estimation,  to  the  account  of  his 
superiority.  His  face  was  "  sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of 
thought,"  and  its  lineaments  were  very  deeply  and  strongly 
marked.  There  was  a  wondrous  power  and  fire  in  the  eyes, 
which  gleamed  with  restless  energy  whichever  way  he  looked. 
They  were  neither  large  nor  prominent — but  all  soul — all  expres- 
sion. It  was  startling  to  find  their  glance  suddenly  settled  on 
one.  His  forehead,  as  much  as  I  saw  of  it,  was  knotted  and 
expansive.  There  was  a  prevailing  air  of  anxiety  about  his  worn 
features,  young  as  he  was — being  then  only  twenty-one — as  if 
his  mind  were  every  instant  hard  at  work — which  an  inaccurate 
observer  might  have  set  down  to  the  score  of  ill-nature,  espe- 
cially when  coupled  with  the  matter-of-fact,  unsmiling  nods  of 
recognition,  with  which  he  returned  the  polite  inclinations  of 
those  who  passed  him.  To  me,  sitting  watching  him,  it  seemed 
as  though  his  mind  were  of  too  intense  and  energetic  a  character 

•  It  can  hardly  be  necessary,  I  presume,  to  reiterate,  that  whatever  names 
iudividuals  are  indicated  by  in  these  papers  are  fictitious. 


THE  STATESMAN. CHAPTER  XIX.  327 

to  have  any  sympathies  with  the  small  matters  transpiring  around 
him.  I  knew  his  demeanour  was  simple,  unaffected,  genuine, 
and  it  was  refreshing  to  see  it.  It  predisposed  me  to  like  him, 
if  only  for  being  free  from  the  ridiculous  airs  assumed  by  some 
with  whom  I  associated.  He  allowed  five  or  six  speakers  to 
address  the  society,  without  making  notes,  or  joining  in  the  noisy 
exclamations  and  interruptions  of  those  around  him.  At  length 
he  rose  amid  perfect  silence — the  silence  of  expectant  criticism 
whetted  by  rivalry.  He  seemed  at  first  a  little  flustered,  and, 
for  about  five  minutes,  spoke  hesitatingly  and  somewhat  uncon- 
nectedly — with  the  air  of  a  man  who  does  not  know  exactly  how 
to  get  at  his  subject,  which  he  is  yet  conscious  of  having 
thoroughly  mastered.  At  length,  however,  the  current  ran 
smooth,  and  gradually  widened  and  swelled  into  such  a  stream — 
a  torrent  of  real  eloquence — as  I  never  before  or  since  heard 
poured  from  the  lips  of  a  young  speaker — or,  possibly,  any 
speaker  whatsoever,  except  himself  in  after  life.  He  seemed 
long  disinclined  to  enhance  the  effect  of  what  he  was  uttering 
by  oratorical  gesture.  His  hands  both  grasped  his  cap,  which, 
erelong,  was  compressed,  twisted,  and  crushed  out  of  all  shape ; 
but,  as  he  warmed,  he  laid  it  down,  and  used  his  arms,  the  levers 
of  eloquence,  with  the  grace  and  energy  of  a  natural  orator. 
The  effect  he  produced  was  prodigious.  We  were  all  carried 
away  with  him,  as  if  by  whirlwind  force.  As  for  myself,  I  felt, 
for  the  first  time,  convinced  that  oratory  such  as  that  could  per- 
suade me  to  any  thing.  As  might  have  been  expected,  his  speech 
was  fraught  with  the  faults  incident  to  youth  and  inexperience, 
and  was  pervaded  with  a  glaring  hue  of  extravagance  and  exag- 
geration. Some  of  his  "facts"  were  preposterously  incorrect, 
and  his  inferences  false  ;  but  there  was  such  a  prodigious  power 
of  language — such  a  blaze  of  fancy — such  a  stretch  and  grasp  of 
thought — and  such  casuistical  dexterity  evinced  throughout,  as 
indicated  the  presence  of  first-rate  capabilities.  He  concluded 
amid  a  storm  of  applause ;  and  before  his  enthusiastic  auditors, 
whispering  together  their  surprize  and  admiration,  could  observe 
his  motions,  he  had  slipped  away  and  left  the  room. 

The  excitement  into  which  this  young  man's  '■'■first  appear- 
ance" had  thrown  me,  kept  me  awake  the  greater  part  of  the 


828  DIAKT  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

night ;  and  I  well  recollect  feeling  a  transient  fit  of  disinclina- 
tion for  the  dull  and  sombre  profession  of  medicine,  for  which  I 
was  destined.  That  evening's  display  warranted  my  indulging 
high  expectations  of  the  future  eminence  of  young  Stafford  ;  hut 
I  hardly  went  so  far  as  to  think  of  once  seeing  him  Secretary  of 
State,  and  leader  of  the  British  House  of  Commons.  Accident 
soon  afterwards  introduced  me  to  him,  at  the  supper-table  of  a 
mutual  friend.  I  found  him  distinguished  as  well  by  that  sim- 
plicity and  frankness  ever  attending  the  consciousness  of  real 
greatness,  as  by  the  recklessness,  irritability,  and  impetuosity, 
of  one  aware  that  he  is  far  superior  to  those  around  him,  and  in 
possession  of  that  species  of  talent  which  is  appreciable  by  all 
— of  those  rare  powers  which  ensure  a  man  the  command  over 
his  fellows — keen  and  bitter  sarcasm,  and  extraordinary  readi- 
ness of  repartee.  Then,  again,  all  his  predilections  were  political. 
He  utterly  disregarded  the  popular  pursuits  at  college.  What- 
ever he  said,  read,  or  thought,  had  reference  to  his  "ruling 
passion" — and  tliat  not  by  fits  and  starts,  under  the  arbitrary 
impulses  of  rivalry  or  enthusiasm,  but  steadily  and  systemati- 
cally. I  knew  from  himself,  that,  before  his  twenty-third  year, 
he  had  read  over  and  made  notes  of  the  whole  of  the  parlia- 
mentary debates,  and  have  seen  a  table  which  he  constructed  for 
reference,  on  a  most  admirable  and  useful  plan.  The  minute 
accuracy  of  his  acquaintance  with  the  whole  course  of  political 
affairs,  obtained  by  such  laborious  methods  as  this,  may  be  easily 
conceived.  His  powers  of  memory  were  remarkable — as  well 
for  their  capacity  as  tenacity ;  and  the  presence  of  mind  and 
judgment  with  which  he  availed  himself  of  his  acquisitions,  con- 
vinced his  opponent  that  he  had  undertaken  an  arduous,  if  not 
hopeless  task,  in  rising  to  reply  to  him.  It  was  impossible  not 
to  see,  even  in  a  few  minutes'  interview  with  him,  that  Ambi- 
tion had  "  marked  him  for  her  own."  Alas  !  what  a  stormy 
career  is  before  this  young  man  !  I  have  often  thought,  while 
listening  to  his  fervid  harangues  and  conversations,  and  wit- 
nessing the  twin  fires  of  intellect  and  passion  fiashing  from  his 
eyes.  One  large  ingredient  in  his  composition  was  a  most  mor- 
bid sensibility ;  and  then  he  devoted  himself  to  every  pursuit 
with  a  headlong,  undistinguishing  enthusiasm  and  energy,  whicli 


THE  STATESMAN. CHAPTER  XIX.  329 

inspired  me  with  lively  apprehensions  lest  he  should  wear  him- 
self out,  and  fall  by  the  way,  before  he  could  actually  enter  on 
the  great  arena  of  public  life.  His  forehead  was  already  fur- 
rowed with  premature  wrinkles ! 

His  application  was  incessant.  He  rose  every  morning  at  five, 
and  retired  pretty  regularly  by  eleven. 

Our  acquaintance  gradually  ripened  into  friendship  ;  and  we 
visited  each  other  with  mutual  frequency  and  cordiality.  When 
he  left  college,  he  entreated  me  to  accompany  him  to  the  conti- 
nent ;  but  financial  difficulties  on  my  part  forbade  it.  He  was 
possessed  of  a  tolerably  ample  fortune ;  and,  at  the  time  of  quit- 
ting England,  was  actually  in  treaty  with  Sir for  a 

borough.  I  left  Cambridge  a  few  months  after  Mr  Stafford  ; 
and,  as  we  were  mutually  engaged  with  the  arduous  and  absorb- 
ing duties  of  our  respective  professions,  we  saw  and  heard  little 
or  nothing  of  one  another  for  several  years.  In  the  very  depth 
of  my  distress — during  the  first  four  years  of  my  establishment  in 
London — I  recollect  once  calling  at  the  hotel  which  he  generally 
made  his  town  quarters,  for  the  purpose  of  soliciting  his  assistance 
in  the  way  of  introductions  ;  when,  to  my  anguish  and  mortifi- 
cation, I  heard,  that  on  tliat  very  morning  he  had  quitted  the 
hotel  for  Calais,  on  his  return  to  the  continent. 

At  length  Mr  Stafford,  who  had  long  stood  contemplating  on 
the  brink,  dashed  into  the  tempestuous  waters  of  public  life,  and 

emerged — a  member  of  Parliament  for  the  borough  of .     1 

happened  to  see  the  Gazette  which  announced  the  event,  about 
two  years  after  the  occurrence  of  the  accident  which  elevated 
me  into  fortune.  I  did  not  then  require  any  one's  interference 
on  my  behalf,  being  content  with  the  independent  exercise  of 
my  profession  ;  and  even  if  I  had  been  unfortunate,  too  long  an 
interval  had  elapsed,  I  thought,  to  warrant  my  renewing  a  mere 
college  acquaintance  with  such  a  man  as  Mr  Stafford.  I  was 
content,  therefore,  to  keep  barely  within  the  extreme  rays  of  this 
rising  sun  in  the  political  hemisphere.  I  shall  not  easily  forget 
the  feelings  of  intense  interest  with  which  I  saw,  in  one  of  the 
morning  papers,  the  name  of  my  quondam  college  friend,  "  Ma 
Stafford,"  standing  at  the  head  of  a  speech  of  two  columns' 
length — or  the  delight  with  which  I  paused  over  the  frequent 


8S0  THE  DIAET  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN, 

interruptions  of  "Ifear,  hear!" — '■'Hear,  hear,  hear!" — "  Cheers" 
— "  Loud  Cheers" — which  marked  the  speaker's  progress  in  the 
favour  of  the  House.  "  We  regret,"  said  the  reporter,  in  a  note 
at  the  end,  "  that  the  noise  in  the  gallery  prevented  our  giving 
at  greater  length  the  eloquent  and  effective  maiden  speech  of 
Mr  Stafford,  which  was  cheered  perpetually  throughout,  and 
excited  a  strong  sensation  in  the  House."  In  my  enthusiasm,  I 
did  not  fail  to  purchase  a  copy  of  that  newspaper,  and  have  it 
now  in  my  possession.  It  needed  not  the  enquiries  which  every 
where  met  me,  "  Have  you  read  Mr  Stafford's  maiden  speech  ?" 
to  assure  me  of  his  splendid  prospects,  the  reward  of  his  early 
and  honourable  toils.  His  "  maiden  speech "  formed  the  sole 
engrossing  topic  of  conversation  to  my  wife  and  me  as  we  sat 
at  supper  that  evening ;  and  she  was  asking  me  some  such  ques- 
tion as  is  generally  uppermost  in  ladies'  minds  on  the  mention 
of  a  popular  character,  "  Wliat  sort  of  looking  man  he  was 
when  I  knew  him  at  Cambridge  ?  " — when  a  forcible  appeal  to 
the  knocker  and  bell,  followed  by  the  servant's  announcing,  that 
"  a  gentleman  wished  to  speak  to  me  directly,"  brought  me 
into  my  patients'  room.  The  candles,  which  were  only  just  lit, 
did  not  enable  me  to  see  the  person  of  my  visiter  very  distinctly ; 
but  the  instant  he  spoke  to  me,  removing  a  handkerchief  which 
he  held  to  his  mouth,  I  recognized — could  it  be  possible  ? — the 
very  Mr  Stafford  we  had  been  speaking  of !  I  shook  him  affec- 
tionately by  the  hand,  and  should  have  proceeded  to  compliment 
him  warmly  on  his  last  evening's  success  in  the  House,  but  that 
his  dreadful  paleness  of  features,  and  discomposure  of  manner, 
disconcerted  me. 

"  My  dear  Mr  Stafford,  what  is  the  matter  ?  Are  you  ill  ?  Has 
any  thing  happened  ?  "  I  enquired  anxiously. 

"  Yes,  doctor — perhaps  fatally  ill,"  he  replied,  with  great 
agitation.  "  I  thought  I  would  call  on  you  on  my  way  from  the 
House,  which  I  have  but  just  left.  It  is  not  my  fault  that  we 
have  not  maintained  our  college  acquaintance  ;  but  of  that  more 
hereafter.  I  wish  your  advice — your  honest  opinion  on  my  case. 
For  God's  sake,  don't  deceive  me  !  Last  evening  I  spoke,  for  the 
first  time,  in  the  House,  at  some  length,  and  with  all  the  energy 
I  could  command.     You  may  guess  the  consequent  exhaustion 


THE  STATESMAN. CHAPTER  XIX.  331 

I  have  suffered  during  the  whole  of  this  day ;  and  tliis  evening, 
though  much  indisposed  -with  fever  and  a  cough,  I  imprudently 

went  down  to  the  House,  when  Sir so  shamefully 

misrepresented  certain  portions  of  the  speech  I  had  delivered  the 
preceding  night,  that  I  felt  bound  to  rise  and  vindicate  myself. 
I  was  betrayed  into  greater  length  and  vehemence  than  I  had 
anticipated  ;  and,  on  sitting  down,  was  seized  with  such  an  irre- 
pressible fit  of  coughing,  as  at  last  forced  me  to  leave  the  House. 
Hoping  it  would  abate,  I  walked  for  some  time  about  the  lobby 
— and,  at  length,  thought  it  better  to  return  home  than  re-enter 
the  House.  While  hunting  after  my  carriage,  the  violence  of  the 
cough  subsided  into  a  small  hacking,  irritating  one,  accompanied 
with  spitting.  After  driving  about  as  far  as  Whitehall,  the  vivid 
glare  of  one  of  the  street-lamps  happened  to  fall  suddenly  on  my 
white  pocket-handkerchief,  and,  O  God!"  continued  Mr  Stafford, 
almost  gasping  for  breath,  "  this  horrid  sight  met  my  eye ! "  He 
spread  out  a  pocket-handkerchief,  all  spotted  and  dabbled  with 
blood  !  It  was  with  the  utmost  difficulty  that  he  communicated 
to  me  what  is  gone  before.  "  Oh !  it's  all  over  with  me — the 
chapter's  ended,  I'm  afraid  ! "  he  murmured  almost  inarticulately, 
and,  while  I  was  feeling  his  pulse,  he  fainted.  I  placed  him 
instantly  in  a  recumbent  position — loosened  his  neckerchief  and 
shirt-collar — dashed  some  cold  water  in  his  face — and  he  pre- 
sently recovered.  He  shook  his  head,  in  silence,  very  mournfully 
— his  features  expressing  utter  hopelessness.  I  sat  down  close 
beside  him,  and,  grasping  his  hand  in  mine,  endeavoured  to 
re-assure  him.  The  answers  he  returned  to  the  few  questions  I 
asked  him,  convinced  me  that  the  spitting  of  blood  was  unat- 
tended with  danger,  provided  he  could  be  kept  quiet  in  body  and 
mind.  There  was  not  the  slightest  symptom  of  radical  mischief 
in  the  lungs.  A  glance  at  his  stout  build  of  body,  especially  at 
his  ample  sonorous  chest,  forbade  the  supposition.  I  explained 
to  him,  with  even  professional  minuteness  of  detail,  the  true 
nature  of  the  accident,  its  effects,  and  method  of  cure.  He  lis- 
tened to  me  with  deep  attention,  and,  at  last,  seemed  convinced. 
He  clasped  his  hands,  exclaiming,  "  Thank  God  !  thank  God ! " 
and  entreated  me  to  do  on  the  spot,  what  I  had  directed  to  be 
done  by  the  apothecary — to  bleed  him.     I  complied,  and,  from 


332  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

a  large  orifice,  took  a  considerable  quantity  of  blood.  I  then 
accompanied  him  home — saw  him  consigned  to  bed — prescribed 
the  usual  lowering  remedies — absolutely  forbade  him  to  open  his 
lips,  except  in  the  slightest  whisper  possible ;  and  left  him  calm, 
and  restored  to  a  tolerable  measure  of  self-possession. 

One  of  the  most  exquisite  sources  of  gratification,  arising  from 
the  discharge  of  our  professional  duties,  is  the  disabusing  our 
patients  of  their  harrowing  and  groundless  apprehensions  of 
danger.  One  such  instance  as  is  related  above,  is  to  me  an 
ample  recompense  for  montlis  of  miscellaneous,  and  often  thank- 
less toil,  in  the  exercise  of  my  profession.  Is  it  not,  in  a  manner, 
plucking  a  patient  from  the  very  brink  of  the  grave,  to  which  he 
had  despairingly  consigned  himself,  and  placing  him  once  more 
in  the  busy  throng  of  life — the  very  heart  of  society?  I  have 
seen  men  of  the  strongest  intellect  and  nerve — whom  the  detec- 
tion of  a  novel  and  startling  symptom  has  terrified  into  giving 
themselves  up  for  lost — in  an  instant  dispossessed  of  their  appre- 
hensions, by  explaining  to  them  the  real  nature  of  what  has 
alarmed  them.*  The  alarm,  however,  occasioned  by  the  rupture 
of  a  bloodvessel  in  or  near  the  lungs,  is  seldom  unwarranted, 
although  it  may  be  excessive  :  and  though  we  can  soon  determine 
vrhether  or  not  the  accident  is  in  the  nature  of  a  primary  disease, 
or  symptomatic  of  some  incurable  pulmonary  affection,  and  dis- 
sipate or  corroborate  our  patient's  apprehensions  accordingly,  it 
is  no  more  than  prudent  to  warn  one  who  has  once  experienced 
this  injury,  against  any  exertions  or  excesses  which  have  a 
tendency  to  interfere  with  the  action  of  the  lungs,  by  keeping  in 


*  One  instance  presses  so  strongly  on  my  recollection,  that  I  cannot  help  ad- 
verting to  it : — I  was  one  day  summoned  in  haste  to  an  eminent  merchant  in 
the  city,  who  thought  he  had  grounds  for  apprehending  occasion  for  one  of  the 
most  appalling  operations  known  in  surgery.  "When  I  arrived,  on  finding  tbe 
case  not  exactly  within  my  province,  I  was  going  to  leave  him  in  the  hands  of  a 
surgeon ;  but  seeing  that  his  alarm  had  positively  half  maddened  him,  I  resolved 
to  give  him  what  assistance  I  could.  I  soon  found  that  his  fears  were  chime- 
rical ;  but  he  would  not  believe  me.  "When,  however,  I  succeeded  in  convincing 
hlin,  that  "  all  was  yet  right  with  him,"  by  referring  the  sensations  which  had 
alarmed  him  to  an  unperceived  derangement  of  his  dress,  tongue  cannot  utter, 
nor  I  ever  forget,  the  ecstasy  with  which  he  at  last  "  gave  to  the  winds  his  fears." 
He  iasiBtod  on  my  accepting  one  of  the  largest  fees  that  had  ever  been  tendered 


THE  STATESMAN — CHAPTER  XIX.  333 

sight  the  possibility  of  a  fatal  relapse.     To  return,  however,  to 
Mr  Stafford. 

His  recovery  was  tardier  than  I  could  have  expected.  His 
extraordinary  excitability  completely  neutralized  the  effect  of  my 
lowering  and  calming  system  of  treatment.  I  could  not  persuade 
him  to  give  his  mind  rest ;  and  the  mere  glimpse  of  a  newspaper 
occasioned  such  a  flutter  and  agitation  of  spirits,  that  I  forbade 
them  altogether  for  a  fortnight.  I  was  in  the  habit  of  writing 
my  prescriptions  in  his  presence,  and  pausing  long  over  them 
for  the  purpose  of  unsuspectedly  observing  him ;  and  though  he 
would  tell  me  that  his  "  mind  was  still  as  a  stagnant  pool,"  his 
intense  air,  his  corrugated  brows  and  fixed  eyes,  evinced  the  most 
active  exercise  of  thought.  When  in  a  sort  of  half-dozing  state, 
he  would  often  mutter  about  the  subjects  nearest  his  heart. 

"  Ah !  naist  go  out — the Bill,  their  touchstone — ay — though 

and  his  Belial-tongue." 

"  'Tis  cruel — 'tis  tantalizing,  doctor,"  he  said  one  morning, 
"  to  find  one's-self  held  by  the  foot  in  this  way,  like  a  chained 
eagle!  The  world  forgets  every  one  that  slips  for  a  moment 
from  public  view.  Alas  !  alas  !  my  plans — my  projects — are 
all  unravelling!" — "Thy  sun,  young  man,  may  go  down  at 
noon ! "  I  often  thought,  when  reflecting  on  his  restless  and 
ardent  spirit.  He  wanted  case-hardening — long  physical  train- 
ing— to  fit  him  for  the  harassing  and  exhausting  campaign  on 
which  he  had  entered.  Truly,  truly,  your  politician  should 
have  a  frame  of  adamant,  and  a  mind  "  thereto  conforming 
strictly."  He  should  be  utterly  inaccessible  to  emotion — and 
especially  to  the  finer  feelings  of  our  nature,  since  there  is  no 
room  for  their  exercise.  He  should  forget  his  heart,  his  family, 
his  friends — every  thing  except  his  own  interest  and  ambition. 
It  should  be  with  him  as  with  a  consummate  intriguer  of  old — - 

No  rest,  no  breatbing-time  had  he,  or  lack'd — 
Lest  from  the  slippery  steep  he  suddenly 
Might  fall.     Of  every  joy  forgetful  r^uite, 

Life's  softness  had  no  charm  for  him • 

■ — ■ His  object  sole 

To  cheat  the  silly  -world  of  her  applause — his  eye 
Flx'd  with  stern  steadfastness  upon  the  Star 
That  shed  but  madness  on  him. 


334  DIART  or  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

I  found  Mr  Stafford  one  day  in  high  chafe  about  a  sarcastic 
allusion  in  the  debate  to  a  sentiment  which  he  had  expressed  in 
Parliament— "Oh!  one  might  wither  that  fellow  with  a  word  or 
two,  the  stilted  noodle  !"  said  he,  pointing  to  the  passage,  while 
his  eye  glanced  like  lightning. 

"  You'll  more  likely  wither  your  own  prospects  of  ever  making 
the  trial,  if  you  don't  moderate  your  exertions,"  I  replied.  He 
smiled  incredulously,  and  made  me  no  answer,  but  continued 
twisting  about  his  pencil-case  with  a  rapidity  and  energy  which 
showed  the  high  excitement  under  which  he  was  labouring.  His 
hard,  jerking,  irregular  pulse,  beating  on  the  average  a  hun- 
dred a  minute,  excited  my  lively  apprehensions,  lest  the  increased 
action  of  the  heart  should  bring  on  a  second  fit  of  blood-spitting. 
I  saw  clearly  that  it  would  be  in  vain  for  him  to  court  the 
repose  essential  to  his  convalescence,  so  long  as  he  continued  in 
town ;  and,  with  infinite  difficulty,  prevailed  on  him  to  betake 
himself  to  the  country.  We  wrung  a  promise  from  him  that  he 
would  set  about  "  unbending  " — "  unharnessing,"  as  he  called 
it — that  he  would  "  give  his  constitution  fair  play."  He  acknow- 
ledged that,  to  gain  the  objects  he  had  proposed  to  himself,  it 
was  necessary  for  him  "  to  husband  his  resources;  and  briskly 
echoed  my  quotation — "  neque  semper  arcum  tendit  Apollo."  In 
short,  we  dismissed  him  in  the  confident  expectation  of  seeing 
him  return,  after  a  requisite  interval,  with  recruited  energies  of 
body  and  mind.  He  had  scarcely,  however,  been  gone  a  fort- 
night, before  a  paragraph  ran  the  round  of  the  daily  papers, 
announcing,  as  nearly  ready  for  publication,  a  political  pam- 
phlet, "  by  Charles  Stafford,  Esq.  M.P. ;  "—and  in  less  than  three 
weeks — sure  enough — a  packet  was  forwarded  to  my  residence, 
from  the  publisher,  containing  my  rebellious  patient's  pam- 
phlet, accompanied  with  the  following  hasty  note : — "  kaxhnirn 
— Even  with  you ! — you  did  not,  you  will  recollect,  interdict 
writing ;  and  I  have  contrived  to  amuse  myself  with  the  accom- 
panying trifle. — Please  look  at  page  ,   and  see  the  kind 

things  I  have  said  of  poor  Lord ,  the  worthy  who  attacked 

me  the  other  evening  in  the  House  behind  my  back."  This 
"  trifle"  was  in  the  form  of  a  pamphlet  of  sixty-four  pages,  full 
of  masterly  argumentation  and  impetuous  eloquence ;  but  unfor- 


THE  STATESMAN CHAPTER  XIX.  335 

tunately,  owing  to  the  publisher's  dilatoriness,  it  came  a  day 
behind  the  fair,"  and  attracted  but  little  attention. 

His  temporary  rustication,  however,  was  attended  with  at 
least  two  beneficial  results — recruited  health,  and  the  heart  of 

Lady  Emma   ,    the   beautiful   daughter   of  a   nobleman 

remotely  connected  with  Mr  Stafford's  family.  This  attach- 
ment proved  powerful  enough  to  alienate  him  for  a  while  from 
the  turmoils  of  political  life ;  for  not  only  did  the  beauty,  wealth, 

and  accomplishments  of  Lady  Emma  render  her  a  noble 

prize,  worthy  of  great  effort  to  obtain,  but  a  powerful  miUtary 
rival  had  taken  the  field  before  Mr  Stafford  made  his  appearance, 
and  seemed  disposed  to  move  heaven  and  earth  to  carry  her  off. 
It  is  needless  to  say  how  such  a  consideration  was  calculated  to 
rouse  and  absorb  all  the  energies  of  the  young  senator,  and  keep 
him  incessantly  on  the  qui  vive.  It  is  said  that  the  lady  wavered 
for  some  time,  uncertain  to  which  of  her  brilliant  suitors  she 
should  give  the  nod  of  preference.  Chance  decided  the  matter. 
It  came  to  pass  that  a  contested  election  arose  in  the  county, 
and  Mr  Stafford  made  a  very  animated  and  successful  speech 
from  the  hustings  (not  far  from  which,  at  a  window,  was  standing 
Lady  Emma)  in  favour  of  her  ladyship's  brother,  one  of  the 
candidates.  lo  triumphe!  That  happy  evening  the  enemy 
"  surrendered  at  discretion  ;"  and,  erelong,  it  was  known  far  and 
wide  that,  in  newspaper  slang,  "an  affair  was  on  the  tapis" 
between  Mr  Stafford  and  the  "  beautiful  and  accomplished  Lady 
Emma ,"  &c.  &c. 

It  is  my  firm  persuasion,  that  the  diversion  in  his  pursuits 
effected  by  this  "  affair,"  by  withdrawing  Mr  Stafford  for  a 
considerable  interval  from  cares  and  anxieties  which  he  was 
physically  unable  to  cope  with,  lengthened  his  life  for  many 
years;  giving  England  a  splendid  statesman,  and  this,  my 
Diary,  the  sad  records  which  are  now  to  be  laid  before  the 
reader. 


One  characteristic  of  our  profession,  standing,  as  it  were,  in 
such  sad  and  high  relief,  as  to  scare  many  a  sensitive  mind  from 
entering  into  its  service,  is,  that  it  is  concerned,  almost  exclu- 


336  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

sively,  with  the  dark  side  of  humanity.  As  carnage  and  carrion 
guide  the  gloomy  flight  of  the  vulture,  so  misery  is  the  signal 
for  a  medical  man's  presence.  We  have  to  do  daily  with  broken 
hearts,  blighted  hopes,  pain,  sorrow,  death !  And  though  the 
satisfaction  arising  from  the  due  discharge  of  our  duties  be  that 
of  a  good  Samaritan— a  rich  return — we  cannot  help  counting 
the  heavy  cost — aching  hearts,  weary  limbs,  privations,  ingrati- 
tude. Dark  array !  It  may  be  considered  placing  the  matter 
in  a  whimsical  point  of  view ;  yet  I  have  often  thought  that  the 
two  great  professions  of  Law  and  Medicine  are  but  foul  carrion 
birds — the  one  preying  on  the  moral,  as  the  other  on  the  physi- 
cal rottenness  of  mankind. 

"  Those  who  are  well  need  not  a  physician,"  say  the  Scrip- 
tures; and  on  this  ground  it  is  easy  to  explain  the  melancholy 
hue  pervading  these  papers.  They  are  mirrors  reflecting  the 
dark  colours  exposed  to  them.  It  is  true  that  some  remote 
relations,  arising  out  of  the  particular  combinations  of  circum- 
stances first  requiring  our  professional  interference,  may  afford, 
as  it  were,  a  passing  gleum  of  distant  sunshine,  in  the  develop- 
ment of  some  trait  of  beautiful  character,  some  wondrous  "  good, 
from  seeming  ill  educed;"  but  these  are  incidental  only,  and 
evanescent — enhancing,  not  relieving  the  gloom  and  sorrow 
amid  which  we  move.  A  glimpse  of  heaven  would  but  aggra- 
vate the  horrors  of  hell !  These  chilling  reflections  force  them- 
selves on  my  mind  when  surveying  the  very  many  entries  in 
my  Diary,  concerning  the  eminent  individual  whose  case  I  am 
now  narrating — concerning  one  who  seemed  born  to  bask  in  the 
brightness  of  life — to  reap  the  full  harvest  of  its  joys  and  com- 
forts, and  yet  "  walked  in  darkness ! "  Why  should  it  have 
been  so  ?     Answer — Ambition  ! 


The  reader  must  hurry  on  with  me  through  the  next  ten  years 
of  Mr  Stafford's  life,  during  which  period  he  rose  with  almost 
unprecedented  rapidity.  He  had  hardly  time,  as  it  were,  to 
get  warm  in  his  nest,  before  he  was  called  to  lodge  m  the  one 
above  him,  and  then  the  one  above  that ;  and  so  on  upwards,  till 


TUB  STATESMAN. CHAPTEK  XIX.  337 

people  began  to  view  his  progress  -with  their  hands  shading 
their  dazzled  eyes,  while  they  exclaimed,  '■'■fast  for  the  top  of  the 
tree!"  He  was  formed  for  political  popularity.  He  had  a  most 
winning,  captivating,  commanding  style  of  delivery,  which  was 
always  employed  in  the  steady,  consistent  advocacy  of  one  line 
of  principles.  The  splendour  of  his  talents — his  tact  and  skill 
in  debate — the  immense  extent  and  accuracy  of  his  political 
information — early  attracted  the  notice  of  Ministers,  and  he  was 
not  suffered  to  wait  long  before  they  secured  his  services,  by 
giving  him  a  popular  and  influential  office.  During  all  this 
time  he  maintained  a  very  friendly  intimacy  with  me,  and  often 
put  into  requisition  my  professional  services.  Aboat  eight 
o'clock,  one  Saturday  evening,  I  received  the  following  note 
from  Mr  Stafford  :— 

"  Dear  ,  excuse  excessive  haste.     Let  me  entreat-  you 

(I  will  hereafter  account  for  the  suddenness  of  this  application) 
to  make  instant  arrangements  for  spending  with  me  the  whole 

of  to-morrow  (Sunday)  at  ,  and  to  set  off  from  town  in 

time  for  breakfasting  with  Lady  Emma  and  myself.  Your 
presence  is  required  by  most  urgent  and  special  business ;  but 
allow  me  to  beg  you  will  appear  at  breakfast  with  an  uncon- 
cerned air — as  a  chance  visiter. — Your's  always  faithfully, 

"  C.  Stafford." 

The  words  "  whole  "  and  "  special "  were  thrice  underscored ; 
and  this,  added  to  the  very  unusual  illegibility  of  the  writing, 
betrayed  an  urgency,  and  even  agitation,  which  a  little  discon- 
certed me.  The  abruptness  of  the  application  occasioned  me 
some  trouble  in  making  the  requisite  arrangements.  As,  how- 
ever, it  was  not  a  busy  time  with  me,  I  contrived  to  find  a  sub- 
stitute for  the  morrow  in  my  friend  Dr  D . 

It  was  on  a  lovely  Sabbath  morning,  in  July  18 — ,  that,  in 
obedience  to  the  above  hurried  summons,  I  set  off  on  horseback 
from  the  murky  metropolis  ;  and,  after  rather  more  than  a  two 
hours'  ride,  found  myself  entering  the  grounds  of  Mr  Stafford, 
who  had  recently  purchased  a  beautiful  villa  on  the  banks  of 
the  Thames.    It  was  about  nine  o'clock,  and  Nature  seemed  but 


338  DIAKT  OF  A  iATE  PHYSICIAN. 

freshly  awakened  from  the  depth  of  her  overnight's  slumbers, 
her  tresses  all  uncurled,  as  it  were,  and  her  perfumed  robes  glis- 
tening with  the  pearls  of  morning  dew.     A  deep  and  rich  repose 
brooded  over  the  scene,  subduing  every  feeling  of  my  soul  into 
sympathy.     A  groom  took  my  horse ;  and,  finding  that  neither 
Mr  Stafford  nor  Lady  Emma  were  yet  stirring,  I  resolved  to 
walk   about  and   enjoy  the  scenery.      In  front  of  the  house 
stretched  a  fine  lawn,  studded  here  and  there  with  laurel  bushes 
and  other  elegant  shrubs,  and  sloping  down  to  the  river's  edge ; 
and  on  each  side  of  the  villa,  and  behind,  were  trees  disposed 
with  the  most  beautiful  and  picturesque  effect  imaginable.    Birds 
were  caroling  cheerfully  and  loudly  on  all  sides  of  me,  as  though 
they  were  intoxicated  with  their  own  "  woodland  melody."    I 
walked  about  as  amid  enchantment,  breathing  the  balminess    [ 
and  fragrance  of  the  atmosphere,  as  the  wild  horse  snuflPs  the    . 
scent  of  the  desert.     How  keenly  are  Nature's  beauties  appre-    , 
eiable  when  but  rarely  seen  by  her  unfortunate  admirer,  who  is   , 
condemned  to  a  town  life !  i 

I  stood  on  the  lawn  by  the  river's  edge,  watching  the  ripple   , 
of  the  retiring  tide,  pondering  within  myself  whether  it  was  pos- 
sible for  such  scenes  as  these  to  have  lost  all  charm  for  their    ■ 
restless  owner.     Did  he  relish  or  tolerate  them  ?     Could  the  .^ 
pursuits  of  ambition  have  blunted,  deadened  his  sensibilities  to 
the  beauty  of  Nature,  the  delights  of  home  ?     These  thoughts   • 
were  passing  through  my  mind,  when  I  was  startled  by  the  tap-    , 
ping  of  a  loose  glove  over  my  shoulder ;  and,  on  turning  round,   u 
beheld  Mr  Stafford,  in  his  flowered  morning-gown,  and  his  face  ^ 
partially  shaded  from  the  glare  of  the  morning  sun,  beneath  a    ' 
broad-rimmed  straw  hat.   "  Good-morning,  doetor^ — good-morn-    , 
ing,"  said  he;  "a  thousand  thanks  for  your  attention  to  my    , 
note  of  last  night ;  but  see !  yonder  stands  Lady  Emma,  waiting   .' 
breakfast  for  us,"  pointing  to  her  ladyship,  who  was  standing  at 
the  window  of  the  breakfast-room.     Mr  Stafford  put  his  arm 
into  mine,  and  we  walked  up  to  the  house,     "  My  dear  sir,  what  ,, 

can  be  the  meaning  of  your " said  I,  with  an   anxious 

look.  *' 

"  Not  a  word — not  a  breath — if  you  please,  till  we  are  alone  , 

after  breakfast."  * 


THE  STATESMAN. CHAPTER  XIX.  339 

"  Well— you  are  bent  on  tantalizing !  M'hat  can  be  the  mat- 
ter ?     What  is  this  mountain  mystery  ?  " 

"It  may  prove  a  molehill,  perhaps,"  said  he  carelessly  5  "but 
we'll  see  after  breakfast." 

"  What  an  enchanting  spot  you  have  of  it ! "  I  exclaimed, 
pausing  and  looking  around  me. 

"  Oh,  very  paradisaical,  I  dare  say,"  he  replied,  -with  an  air  of 
indifference  that  was  quite  laughable.  "  By  the  way,"  he  added 
hurriedly,  "  did  you  hear  any  rumour  about  Lord 's  resig- 
nation late  last  night  ?  "     "  "fes."     "  And  his  successor— is  he 

talked  of?  "  he  enquired  eagerly.     "Mr  C ."     " Mr  C ! 

Is  it  possible  ?     Ah,  ha  " he  muttered,  raising  his  hand  to 

his  cheek,  and  looking  thoughtfully  downwards. 

"  Come,  come,  Mr  Stafford,  'tis  now  my  turn.  Do  drop  these 
eternal  politics  for  a  few  moments,  Ibeg." — "Ay,  ay, '  stiU  harp- 
ing on  my  daughter ! '  I'll  sink  the  shop,  however,  for  a  while,  as 
our  town  friends  say.     But  I  really  beg  pardon — 'tis  rude,  very. 

But  here  we   are.     Lady  Emma,   Dr  ,"  said  he,  as  we 

approached  her  ladyship  through  the  opened  stained-glass  door- 
way. She  sat  before  the  breakfast  urn,  looking,  to  my  eyes,  as 
bloomingly  beautiful  as  at  the  time  of  her  marriage,  though  ten 
summers  had  waved  their  silken  pinions  over  her  head,  but  so 
softly  as  scarcely  to  flutter  or  fade  a  feature  in  passing.  Yes, 
thus  she  sat  in  her  native  loveliness  and  dignity,  the  airiness  of 
girlhood  passed  away  into  the  mellowed  maturity  of  womanhood ! 
She  looked  the  beau-ideal  of  simple  elegance,  in  her  long  snowy 
morning  dress,  her  clustering  auburn  hair  surmounted  with  a 
slight  gossamer  network  of  blonde — not  an  ornament  about  her ! 
I  have  her  figure,  even  at  this  interval  of  time,  most  vividly  before 
me,  as  she  sat  on  that  memorable  morning,  unconscious  that  the 
errand  which  made  me  her  guest  involved — but  I  will  not  anti- 
cipate. She  adored,  nay  idolized  her  husband — little  as  she  saw  of 
him — and  he  was  in  turn  as  fondly  attached  to  her  as  a  man 
could  be,  whose  whole  soul  was  swallowed  up  in  ambition.  Yes, 
he  was  not  the  first  to  whom  political  pursuits  have  proved  a 
very  disease,  shedding  blight  and  mildew  over  the  heart! 

I  thought  I  detected  an  appearance  of  restraint  in  the  manner 
of  each.     Lady  Emma  often  cast  a  furtive  glance  of  anxiety  at 


340  DIARY  OF  A  I-ATE  PHYSICIAN, 

her  husband — and  with  reason — for  his  features  wore  an  air  of 
repressed  uneasiness.  He  was  now  and  then  absent,  and,  when 
addressed  by  either  of  us,  would  reply  with  a  momentary  stern- 
ness of  manner — passing,  however,  instantly  away — whichshowed 
that  his  mind  was  occupied  with  unpleasant  or  troubled  thoughts. 
He  seemed  at  last  aware  that  his  demeanour  attracted  our  obser- 
vation, and  took  to  acting.  All  traces  of  anxiety  or  uneasiness 
disappeared,  and  gave  place  to  his  usual  perfect  urbanity  and 
cheerfulness.  Lady  Emma's  manner  towards  me,  too,  was  cooler 
than  usual,  which  I  attributed  to  the  fact  of  my  presence  not 
having  been  sufficiently  accounted  for.  My  embarrassment  may 
be  easily  conceived. 

"What  a  delicious  morning ! "  exclaimed  Lady  Emma,  look- 
ing through  the  window  at  the  fresh  blue  sky  and  the  cheery 
prospect  beneath.  We  echoed  her  sentiments.  "  I  think,"  said 
I,  "  that,  could  I  call  such  a  little  paradise  as  this  mine,  I  would 
quit  the  smoke  and  uproar  of  London  for  ever  ! "     "I  wish  all 

thought  with  you,  Dr ,"  replied  her  ladyship  with  a  sigh, 

looking  touchingly  at  her  husband. 

'•  What  opportunities  for  tranquil  thought ! "  I  went  on. 

"  Ay,  and  so  forth ! "  said  Mr  Stafford  gaily.  "  Listen  to 
another  son  of  peace  and  solitude,  my  Lord  Roscommon — • 

Hail,  sacred  Solitude  !  from  this  calm  bay 
I  Tiew  the  world's  tempestuous  sea, 

And  with  wise  pride  despise 

All  those  senseless  vanities  : 
With  pity  moved  for  others,  cast  away 
On  rocks  of  hopes  and  fears,  I  see  them  toss'd, 
On  rocks  of  folly  and  of  vice  I  see  them  lost : 
Some,  the  prevailing  malice  of  the  great, 

Unhappy  men,  or  adverse  fate, 
Sunk  deep  into  the  gulfs  of  an  afflicted  state  : 
But  more,  far  more,  a  numherless  prodigious  train. 
Whilst  Virtue  courts  them,  but,  alas ;  in  vain. 

Fly  from  her  kind  embracing  arms, 
Deaf  to  her  fondest  call,  blind  to  her  greatest  charms, 
And,  sunk  in  pleasures  and  in  brutish  ease, 
They,  in  their  shipwreck'd  state,  themselves  obdurate  please. 

Here  may  I  always  on  this  downy  grass. 
Unknown,  unseen,  my  easy  moments  pass, 
Till  with  a  gentle  force,  victorious  Death 


THE  STATESMAN. — CHAPTER  XIX.  341 

My  solitude  invade, 
And,  stopping  for  a  wliile  my  "breath, 
With  case  convey  me  to  a  better  shade.* 

"  There's  for  you,  my  lady  !  Well  sung,  my  Lord  Roscommon  ! 
Beautiful  as  true !"  exclaimed  Mr  Stafford  gaily,  as  soon  as  he  had 
concluded  repeating  the  above  ode,  in  his  own  distinct  and  beauti- 
ful elocution,  with  real  pathos  of  manner ;  but  his  mouth  and  eye 
betrayed  that  his  own  mind  sympathized  not  with  the  emotions 
of  the  poet,  but  rather  despised  the  air  of  inglorious  repose  they 
breathed.  The  tears  were  in  Lady  Emma's  eyes,  as  she  listened 
to  him!  Presently  one  of  his  daughters,  a  fine  little  girl  about 
six  years  of  age,  carae  sidling  and  simpering  into  the  room,  and 
made  her  way  to  her  mother.  She  was  a  lively,  rosy,  arch-eyed 
little  creature,  and  her  father  looked  fondly  at  her  for  a  moment, 
exclaiming,  "Well,  Eleanor!"  and  his  thoughts  had  evidently 
soon  passed  far  away.  The  conversation  turned  on  Mr  Stafford's 
reckless,  absorbing  pursuit  of  politics,  which  Lady  Emma  and  I 
deplored,  and  entreated  him  to  give  more  of  his  time  and  affec- 
tions to  domestic  concerns.  *  *  "  You  talk  to  me  as  if  I 
were  dying,"  said  he,  rather  petulantly  ;  "  why  should  I  not  pur- 
sue my  profession — my  legitimate  profession  ? — As  for  your  still 
waters — your  pastoral  simplicities — your  Arcadian  bliss — pray 
what  inducements  have  I  to  run  counter  to  my  own  inclinations 
to  cruise  what  you  are  pleased  to  call  the  stormy  sea  of  politics  ?" 
"  What  inducements  ? — Charles,  Charles,  can't  you  find  them 
heref"  said  his  lady,  pointing  to  herself  and  her  daughter.  Mr 
StaflTord's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  even  to  overflowing,  and  he 
grasped  her  hand  with  affectionate  energy,  took  his  smiling 
unconscious  daughter  on  his  knee,  and  kissed  her  with  passionate 
fervour.  "  Semel  insaniniwus  omnes"  he  muttered  to  me,  a  few 
moments  after,  as  if  ashamed  of  the  display  he  had  recently 
made.  For  my  own  part,  I  saw  that  he  occasionally  lost  the 
control  over  feelings  which  were,  for  some  reason  or  other,  dis- 
turbed and  excited.  What  could  possibly  have  occurred?  Strange 
as  it  may  seem,  a  thought  of  the  real  state  of  matters,  as  they 
will  presently  be  disclosed,  never  for  an  instant  crossed  my  mind. 
I  longed — I  almost  sickened — for  the  promised  opportunity  of 

*  The  French  Translator  has  been  at  the  pains  of  translating  the  whole  of  the 
above  poem  of  Lord  Roscommon's,  verbatim  et  literatim! 


/ 

342  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

being  alone  with  him.  It  was  soon  afforded  me  by  the  servants 
appearing  at  the  door,  and  announcing  the  carriage. 

"  Oh  dear,  positively  prayers  will  be  over  ! "  exclaimed  Lady 
Emma  rising,  and  looking  hurriedly  at  her  watch,  "  we've  quite 
forgotten  church-hours  !  Do  you  accompany  us,  doctor  ? "  said 
she,  looking  at  me. 

"  No,  Emma,"  replied  Mr  Stafford  quickly ;  "  you  and  the 
family  must  go  alone  this  morning — I  shall  stop  and  keep  Dr 
— —  company,  and  take  a  walk  over  the  country  for  once." 
Lady  Emma,  with  an  unsatisfied  glance  at  both  of  us,  withdrew. 
Mr  Stafford  immediately  proposed  a  walk ;  and  we  were  soon  on 
our  way  to  a  small  Gothic  alcove  near  the  water-side. 

"  Now,  doctor,  to  the  point,"  said  he  abruptly,  as  soon  as  we 
were  seated.  "  Can  I  reckon  on  a  real  friend  in  you  ?"  scrutin- 
izing my  features  closely. 

"  Most  certainly  you  may,"  I  replied,  with  astonishment. 
"  What  can  I  do  for  you  ? — Something  or  other  is  wrong,  I  fear ! 
Can  /  do  any  thing  for  you  in  any  way  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  he  deliberately,  and  looking  fixedly  at  me,  as  if  to 
mark  the  effect  of  his  words ;  "  I  shall  require  a  proof  of  your 
friendship  soon ;  I  must  have  your  services  this  evening — at 
seven  o'clock." 

"  Gracious  Heaven,  Mr  Stafford  ! — why — why — is  it  possible 
that — do  I  guess  aright?"  I  stammered  almost  breathless,  and 
rising  from  my  seat. 

"  O  doctor  ! — don't  be  foolish — excuse  me — but  don't — don't, 
I  beg !  Pray,  give  me  your  answer !  I'm  sure  you  understand 
my  question."    Agitation  deprived  me  for  a  while  of  utterance. 

"  I  beg  an  answer,  Dr ,"  he  resumed  coldly,  "  as,  if  you 

refuse,  I  shall  be  very  much  inconvenienced.  'Tis  but  a  little 
affair — a  silly  business,  that  circumstances  have  made  inevit- 
able— I'm  sure  you  must  have  seen  a  hint  at  it  in  the  last  night's 
papers.  Don't  misunderstand  me,"  he  proceeded,  seeing  me 
continue  silent ;  "  I  don't  wish  you  to  take  an  active  part  in  the 
business — but  to  be  on  the  spot — and,  in  the  event  of  any  thing 
unfortunate  happening  to  me — to  hurry  home  here,  and  prepare 

Lady  Emma  and  the  family— that  is  all.     Mr  G "  (naming 

a  well-known  army  surgeon)  "  will  attend  professionally."    I 


THE  STATESMAN. CHAPTER  XIX.  343 

was  so  confounded  with  the  suddenness  of  the  application,  that  I 
eould  do  nothing  more  than  mutter  indistinctly  my  regret  at 
what  had  happened. 

"  Well,  Doctor ,"  he  continued  in  a  haughty  tone,  "  I  find 

that,  after  all,  I  have  been  mistaken  in  my  man.  I  own  I  did 
not  expect  that  this — the  first  favour  I  have  ever  asked  at  your 
hands,  and,  possibly,  the  last — would  have  been  refused.  But  I 
must  insist  on  an  answer  one  way  or  another ;  you  must  be 
aware  I've  no  time  to  lose." 

"  Mr  Stafford — pardon  me — you  mistake  me !  Allow  me  a 
word ;  you  cannot  have  committed  yourself  rashly  in  this  afiair ! 
Consider  Lady  Emma — your  children" 

"  I  have — I  have,"  he  answered,  grasping  my  hand,  while  his 
voice  faltered ;  "  and  I  need  hardly  inform  you  that  it  is  that 
consideration  only  which  occasions  the  little  disturbance  of  man- 
ner you  may'have  noticed.  But  you  are  a  man  of  the  world 
enough  to  be  aware  that  I  must  go  through  with  the  business. 
I  am  not  the  challenger." 

I  asked  him  for  the  particulars  of  the  affair.  It  originated  in 
a  biting  sarcasm  which  he  had  uttered,  with  reference  to  a  young 
nobleman,  in  the  Houseof  Commons,  on  Friday  evening,  which  had 
been  construed  into  a  personal  aS"ront,  and  for  which  an  apology 
had  been  demanded — mentioning  the  alternative,  in  terms  almost 
approaching  to  insolence,  evidently  for  the  purpose  of  provoking 
him  into  a  refusal  to  retract  or  apologize. 

"  It's  my  firm  persuasion  that  there  is  a  plot  among  a  certain 
party  to  destroy  me — to  remove  an  obnoxious  member  from  the 
House— and  this  is  the  scheme  they  have  hit  upon  !  I  have  suc- 
ceeded, I  find,  in  annoying  the interest  beyond  measure; 

and  so  they  must,  at  all  events,  get  rid  of  me  !  Ay,  this  cur  of  a 
lordlino-  it  is,"  he  continued  with  fierce  emphasis,  "  who  is  to 
make  my  sweet  wife  a  widow,  and  my  children  orphans— for 

Lord *  is  notoriously  one  of  the  best  shots  in  the  country ! 

Poor— poor  Emma!"  he  exclaimed  with  a  sigh,  thrusting  his 
hand  into  his  bosom,  and  looking  down  dejectedly.  We  neither 
of  us  spoke  for  some  time.     "  Would  to  Heaven  we  had  never 

•  "Lord  Pordenl" — French  Translator. 


844  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  rUTSICIAN. 

been  married ! "  he  resumed.  "  Poor  Lady  Emma  leads  a  wretched 
life  of  it,  I  fear !  But  I  honestly  warned  her  that  my  life  would 
be  strewn  with  thorny  cares  even  to  the  grave's  brink ! " 

"  So  you  have  really  pitched  upon  this  evening — Sunday  even- 
ing, for  this  dreadful  business  ?  "  I  enquired. 

"  Exactly.  We  must  be  on  the  spot  by  seven  precisely.  I  say 
WE,  doctor,"  he  continued,  laying  his  hand  on  mine.  I  con- 
sented to  accompany  him.  "  Come  now,  that's  kind !  I'll 
remember   you  for  it.     *     *     *     It  is  now  nearly  half-past 

twelve,"  looking  at  his  watch,  "  and  by  one,  my  Lord  A ,"  * 

mentioning  a  well-known  nobleman,  "  is  to  be  here ;  who  is  to 
stand  by  me  on  the  occasion.  I  wish  he  were  here ;  for  I've 
added  a  codicil  to  my  will,  and  want  you  both  to  witness  my 
signature.  *  *  *  I  look  a  little  fagged — don't  I?"  he  asked 
with  a  smile.  I  told  him  he  certainly  looked  rather  sallow  and 
worn.  "  How  does  our  friend  walk  his  paces  ?  "  he  enquired, 
baring  his  wrist  for  me  to  feel  his  pulse.  The  circulation  was 
little,  if  at  all  disturbed,  and  I  told  him  so.  "  It  would  not 
have  been  very  wonderful  if  it  had,  I  think ;  for  I've  been  up 
half  the  night — till  nearly  five  this  morning — correcting  the  two 

last  proof-sheets  of  my  speech  on  the Bill,  which is 

publishing.  I  think  it  wiU  read  well ;  at  least  I  hope  it  wiU,  in 
common  justice  to  myself,  for  it  was  most  vilely  curtailed  and 
misrepresented  by  the  reporters.  By  the  way — would  you  be- 
lieve it  ? — Sir 's  f  speech  that  night  was  nothing  but  a  hun- 
dredth hash  of  mine,  which  I  delivered  in  the  House  more  than 
eight  years  ago ! "  said  he,  with  an  eager  and  contemptuous  air. 
I  made  him  no  reply  ;  for  my  thoughts  were  too  sadly  occupied 
with  the  dreadful  communication  he  had  recently  made  me.  I ' 
abhorred,  and  do  abhor  and  despise  duelling,  both  in  theory  and 
practice ;  and  now  to  have  to  be  present  at  one,  and  one  in  which 
my  friend — such  a  friend ! — was  to  be  a  principal.  This  thought, 
and  a  glance  at  the  possible,  nay,  probable,  desolation  and 
broken-heartedness  which  might  follow,  was  almost  too  mnch 
for  me.     But  I  knew  Mr  Stafford's  disposition  too  well  to 

*  "Lord  Akock!" — French  Translator. 

t  "  Lord  IVilUanu,"  says  the  French  Translator,  instead  of  Sir . 


THE  STATESMAN. CHArXER  XIX.  345 

attempt  expostulation — especially  in  the  evidently  morbid  state 
of  his  feelings. 

"  Come,  come,  doctor,  let's  walk  a  little.  Your  feelings  flag. 
You  might  be  going  to  receive  satisfaction  yourself,"  with  a 
bitter  sneer,  "  instead  of  seeing  it  given  and  taken  by  others. 
Come,  cheer,  cheer  up."  He  put  his  arm  in  mine,  and  led  me  a 
few  steps  across  the  lawn,  by  the  water-side.  "  Dear,  dear  me ! " 
said  he  with  a  chagrined  air,  pulling  out  his  watch  hastily,  "  I 

wish  to  Heaven  my  Lord  A would  make  his  appearance. 

I  protest  her  ladyship  will  have  returned  from  church  before 
we  have  settled  our  few  matters,  unless,  by  the  way,  she  drives 

round  by  Admiral 's,  as  she  talked  of  last  night.     Oh,  my 

God !  think  of  my  leaving  her  and  the  girls,  with  a  gay  air,  as 
if  we  parted  but  for  an  hour,  when  it  may  be  for  ever !  And  yet 
what  can  one  do  ?  "  While  he  was  speaking,  my  eye  caught  sight 
of  a  servant  making  his  way  towards  us  rapidly  through  the 
shrubbery,  bearing  in  his  hands  a  letter,  which  he  put  into  Mr 
Stafford's  hands,  saying,  a  courier  had  brought  it  that  mo- 
ment, and  was  waiting  to  take  an  answerback  to  town.  "  Ah — 
very  good — let  him  wait  till  I  come,"  said  Mr  Stafford.  "  Ex- 
cuse me.  Doctor ,"  bursting  open  the  envelope  with  a  little 

trepidation,  and  putting  it  into  my  hands,  while  he  read  the 
enclosed  note.  The  envelope  bore  in  one  corner  the  name  of 
the  premier,  and,  in  the  other,  the  words  "  private  and  confi- 
dential," and  was  sealed  with  the  private  crest  and  coronet  of 
the  earl. 

"  Great  God  ! — read  it !  "  exclaimed  Mr  Stafford,  thrusting 
the  note  before  me,  and  elevating  his  eyes  and  hands  despair- 
ingly. Much  agitated  myself  at  witnessing  the  effect  of  the 
communication  on  my  friend,  I  took  it,  and  read  nearly  as  fol- 
lows : — "  My  dear  Stafford — I  had  late  last  night  his  Majesty's 
commands  to  offer  to  you  the  seals  of  the office,  accom- 
panied with  the  most  gracious  expressions  of  consideration  for 
yourself  personally,  and  his  conviction  that  you  will  discharge 
the  important  duties  henceforth  devolving  upon  you, with  honour 
to  yourself,  and  advantage  to  his  Majesty's  councils.  In  all 
which,  I  need  hardly  assure  you,  I  most  heartily  concur.  I  beg 
to  add,  that  I  shall  feel  great  pride  and  pleasure  in  having  you 


348 


1>IARY  OF  A  1>ATE  PHYSICIAN. 


for  a  colleague— and  it  has  not  been  my  fault  that  such  was  not 
the  case  earlier.  May  I  entreat  your  answer  by  the  bearer's 
return,  as  the  state  of  public  affairs  will  not  admit  of  delay  in 
filling  up  so  important  an  office  ?     I  beg  you  wiU  believe  me 

ever  yours,  most  faithfully,  . 

"  Whitehall,  Sunday  noon,  12  o'clock." 

After  hurriedly  reading  the  above,  I  continued  holding  the 
letter  in  my  hands,  speechlessly  gazing  at  Mr  Stafford.  Well 
might  such  a  bitter  balk  excite  the  tumultuous  conflict  of  pas- 
sions which  the  varying  features  of  Mr  Stafford — now  flushed 
— now  pale — too  truly  evidenced.  This  dazzling  proffer  made 
him  only  a  few  hours  before  his  standing  the  fatal  fire  of  an 
accomplished  duellist !  I  watched  him  in  silent  agony.  At 
length  he  clasped  his  hands  with  passionate  energy,  and  exclaimed 
— "  Oh  !  madness — madness — madness  ! — Just  within  reach  of 
the  prize  I  have  run  for  all  my  life ! "  At  that  instant,  a  wherry, 
fuU  of  bedizened  Londoners,  passed  close  before  us,  on  their  way 
towards  Richmond ;  and  I  saw  by  their  whispers  that  they  had 
recognized  Mr  Stafford.  He  also  saw  them,  and  exclaimed  to 
me,  in  a  tone  I  shall  never  forget,  "  Happy,  happy  fools  !"  and 
turned  away  towards  the  house.  He  removed  his  arm  from 
mine,  and  stood  pondering  for  a  few  moments  with  his  eye  fixed 
on  the  grass. 

"  Doctor,  what's  to  be  done  ? " — he  almost  shouted,  turning 
suddenly  to  me,  grasping  my  arm,  and  staring  vacantly  into  my 
face.  I  began  to  fear  lest  he  should  totally  lose  the  command 
©f  himself. 

"  For  God's  sake,  Mr  Stafford,  be  calm  ! — recollect  yourself! 
— or  madness— ruin — 1  know  not  what — is  before  you !  "  I  said, 
in  an  earnest  imploring  tone,  seeing  his  eye  still  glaring  fixedly 
upon  me.  At  length  he  succeeded  in  overmastering  his  feelings. 
"Oh!— folly,  folly,  this!  Inevitable  !— inevitable !"  he  ex- 
claimed in  a  calmer  tone.  "  But  the  letter  must  be  answered. 
What  can  I  say,  doctor  ?"  putting  his  arm  in  mine,  and  walk- 
ing up  to  the  house  rapidly.  We  made  our  way  to  the  library, 
and  Mr  Stafford  sat  down  before  his  desk.  He  opened  his  port- 
feuille  slowly  and  thoughtfully.  "Of  course— decline !"  said 
he,  with  a  profound  sigh,  turning  to  me  with  his  pen  in  his  hand. 


THE  STATESMAN. CHAPTEE  XIX.  347 

"  No — assuredly,  it  would  be  precipitate.  Wait  for  the  issue 
of  this  sad  business.     You  may  escape." — "  No — no — no  !    My 

Lord is  singularly  prompt  and  decisive  in  all  he  does — 

especially  in  disposing  of  his  places.  I  must— I  must — ay" — 
beginning  to  write — ■"  I  must  respectfully  decline — altogether. 
But  on  what  grounds  ?  O  God  !  even  should  I  escape  to-day, 
I  am  ruined  for  ever  in  Parliament !  What  will  become  of  me  ?" 
He  laid  down  the  pen,  and  moved  his  hand  rapidly  over  his  face. 

"  Why — perhaps  it  would  be  better.  —  Tell  his  lordship 
frankly  how  you  are  circumstanced." 

"Tut!"  he  exclaimed,  impetuously;  "ask  him  for  peace- 
officers!  a  likely  thing."  He  pressed  both  his  hands  on  his 
forehead,  leaning  on  his  elbows  over  the  desk.  A  servant  that 
moment  appeared,  and  said,  "  Please,  sir,  the  man  says  he  had 
orders  not  to  wait  more  than  five  minutes" 

"  Begone  !  Let  him  wait,  sir  ! "  thundered  Mr  Stafford — • 
and  resumed  his  pen. 

"  Can't  you  throw  yourself  on  his  lordship's  personal  good 
feeling  towards  you,  and  say  that  such  an  offer  requires  consi- 
deration— that  it  must  interfere  with,  and  derange,  on  the 
instant,  many  of  your  political  engagements — and  that  your 
answer  shall  be  at  Whitehall  by — say  nine  o'clock  this  evening  ? 
So  you  will  gain  time  at  least." 

"Good.  'Twill  do — a  fair  plea  for  time;  but  I'm  afraid  ! " 
said  he  mournfully  ;  and  taking  his  pen  he  wrote  off  an  answer 
to  that  effect.  He  read  it  to  me,  folded  it  up,  sealed  it,  directed 
it  in  his  usual  bold  and  flowing  hand  ;  I  rang  for  the  servant — 
and,  in  a  few  moments,  we  saw  the  courier  galloping  past  the 
window. 

"  Now,  doctor,  isn't  this  enough  to  madden  me  ?  O  God  !  it's 
intolerable  !"  said  he,  rising  and  approaching  me — "  my  glori- 
ous prospects  to  be  darkened  by  this  speck — this  atom  of  pup- 
pyism— of  worthlessness" — naming   Lord  ,   his  destined 

opponent.    "  Oh — if  there  were — if  there  were  " he  resumed, 

speaking  fiercely  through  his  closed  teeth,  his  eyes  glaring 
downwards,  and  his  hands  clenched.  He  soon  relaxed.  "  Well, 
well  !  it  can't  be  helped  ;  'tis  inevitable — ■ttxi/tu;  irkTr^oyTui 
TxvTcc  KovK  iKifiv^ircii — I  must  say  with  Medea.     Ah  ! — Lord 


548  WART  OF  A  LATB  PHYSICIAN. 

A at  last,"  he  said,  as  a  gentleman,  followed  by  his  groom 

rode  past  the  window.  In  a  few  moments  he  entered  the  library. 
His  stature  was  lofty,  his  features  commanding,  and  his  bearing 

fraught  with  composure  and  military  hauteur.   "Ah,  Stafford 

good-morning  !"  said  he,  approaching  and  shaking  him  warmly 
by  the  hand ;  "  upon  my  soul,  I'm  sorry  for  the  business  I'm 
come  about." 

"  I  can  sympathize  with  you,  I  think,"  replied  Mr  Stafford 

calmly.     "  My  Lord,  allow  me — Dr ."     I  bowed.     "  Fully 

in  my  confidence — an  old  friend,"  he  whispered  Lord  A ,  in 

consequence  of  his  lordship's  inquisitive,  suspicious  glance. 
*  *  "  Well,  you  must  teach  the  presumptuous  puppy  better 
manners  this  evening!"  said  his  lordship,  adjusting  his  black 
stock  with  an  indifferent  air  ! 

"  Ay  ! — nothing  like  a  leaden  lesson,"  replied  Mr  Stafford 
with  a  cold  smile. 

"  For  a  leaden  head,  too,  by ! "  rejoined  his  lord- 
ship quickly.  "  Wc  shall  run  you  pretty  fair  through,  I  think  ; 
for  we  have  determined  on  putting  you  up  at  six  paces." 

"Six  paces! — why  we  shall  blow  one  another  to  !" 

echoed  Mr  Stafford,  with  consternation.  '■'■'Twould  be  rather 
hard  to  go  there  in  such  bad  company,  I  own.  Six  paces !"  con- 
tinued Mr  Stafford  ;  "  how  could  you  be  so  absurd  ! — It  will  be 
deliberate  murder !" 

"  Poh,  poh  ! — never  a  bit  of  it,  my  dear  fellow — never  a  bit  of 
it ! — I've  put  many  up  at  that  distance — and,  believe  me,  the 
chances  are  ten  to  two  that  both  miss." 

"  Both  miss  at  six  paces  ?"  enquired  Mr  Stafford  with  an 
incredulous  smile." 

"  Ay  !  both  miss,  I  say ;  and  no  wonder  either.  Such  conti- 
guity ! — Egad,  'twould  make  a  statue  nervous  ! " 

"  But,  A !  have  you  really  determined  on  putting  us  up 

at  six  paces  ?  "  again  enquired  Mr  Stafford  earnestly. 

"Most  unquestionably,"  replied  his  lordship  briskly;  adding, 
rather  coldly,  "  I  flatter  myself,  Stafford,  that  when  a  man's 
hoTvour  is  at  stake,  six  or  sixty  paces  are  matters  equally  indif- 
ferent." 

"  Ay,  ay,  A ,  I  dare  say,"  replied  Mr  Stafford,  with  a 


THE  STATESMAN. CHAPTEK  XIX.  349 

melancholy  air;  " but  'tis  hard  to  die  by  the  hands  of  a  puppy, 
and  under  such  circumstances !  Did  you  not  meet  a  man  on 
horseback?" 

"  Ay,  ay,"  replied  his  lordship  eagerly ;  "  I  did — a  courier  of 

my  Lord  • 's,  and  thundering  townward  at  a  prodigious  rate, 

Any  doings  there  between  you  and  the  premier?" 

"Read!"  said  Mr  Stafford,  putting  Lord 's  letter  into 

his  hand.  Before  his  lordship  had  more  than  half  read  it,  he 
let  it  fall  on  the  table,  exclaiming,  "  Good  God !  was  there  ever 
such  an  unfortunate  thing  in  the  world  before ! — Ha' n't  it  really 
driven  you  mad,  Stafford  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  replied  with  a  sigh  ;  "  the  thing  must  be  borne ! " 

Lord  A walked  a  few  steps  about  the  room  thoughtfully, 

with  energetic  gestures.  "  If — if  I  could  but  find  a  pretext — if 
I  could  but  come  across  the  puppy,  in  the  interval — I'd  give  my 
life  to  have  a  shot  preparatory  with  him!"  he  muttered.  Mr 
Stafford  smiled.     "  While  I  think  of  it,"  said  he,  opening  his 

desk,  "  here's  my  will.    I  wish  you  and  Dr to  see  me  sign." 

We  did — and  affixed  our  names. 

******* 

"By  the  way,"  said  his  lordship,  suddenly  addressing  Mr 
Stafford,  who,  with  his  chin  resting  on  his  hands,  and  his  fea- 
tures wearing  an  air  of  intense  thought,  had  been  silent  for 
some  minutes;  "  how  do  you  put  off  Lady  Emma  to-day  ?  How 
do  you  account  for  your  absence  ?  " 

"  Why,  I've  told  her  we  three  were  engaged  to  dinner  at  Sir 

's,"  naming  a  neighbouring  baronet.     "  I'm  afraid  it  will 

kill  Lady  Emma  if  I  fall,"  he  faltered,  while  the  tears  rushed  to 
his  eyes.  He  stepped  towards  the  decanters,  which  had,  a  little 
while  before,  been  brought  in  by  the  servant;  and,  after  asking 
us  to  do  the  same,  poured  out  a  glass,  and  drank  it  hastily — and 
another — and  another. 

"  Well,  this  is  one  of  the  saddest  affairs,  altogether,  that  I  ever 
knew ! "  exclaimed  his  lordship.  "  Stafford,  I  feel  for  you  from 
my  heart's  core — I  do!"  he  continued,  grasping  him  affection- 
ately by  the  hand:  "here's  to  your  success  to-night,  and  God's 
blessing  to  Lady  Emma ! "  Mr  Stafford  started  suddenly  from 
him,  and  walked  to  the  window,  where  he  stood  for  a  few 


350  DIARY  OF  A  I. ATE  PHYSICIAN. 

minutes  in  silence.  "  Lady  Emma  is  returning',  I  see,"  said  he, 
approaching  us.  His  features  exhibited  little  or  no  traces  of 
agitation.  He  poured  out  another  glass  of  wine,  and  drank  it 
off  at  a  draught,  and  had  hardly  set  down  the  glass,  before  the 
carriage-steps  were  heard  letting  down  at  the  door.  Mr  Staf- 
ford turned  to  them  with  an  eye  of  agony  as  his  lady  and  one  of 
her  little  girls  descended. 

"  I  think  we'd  perhaps  better  not  join  her  ladyship  before  our 
setting  off,"  said  Lord  A ,  looking  anxiously  at  poor  Staf- 
ford. 

"  Oh,  but  we  win"  said  he,  leading  to  the  door.  He  had 
perfectly  recovered  his  self-possession.  I  never  knew  a  man 
that  had  such  remarkable  command  of  face  and  manner  as  Mr 
Stafford.  I  was  amazed  at  the  gay — almost  nonchalant — air 
with  which  he  walked  up  to  Lady  Emma — asked  her  about  the 

sermon — whether  she  had  called  at  Admiral 's — and  several 

other  such  questions. 

"  Ah !  and  how  is  it  with  you,  my  little  Hebe — eh  ?  "  said  he, 
taking  the  laughing  girl  into  his  arms,  laughing,  tickling  and 
kissing  her,  with  all  a  father's  fondness.  /  saw  his  heart  was 
swelling  within  him :  and  the  touching  sight  brought,  with 
powerful  force  to  my  recollection,  a  similar  scene  in  the  Medea 
of  Euripides,  where  the  mother  is  bewailing  over  the  "last 
smile  "  of  her  children.*     He  succeeded  in  betraying  no  painful 

emotion  in  his  lady's  presence ;  and  Lord  A took  good  care 

to  engage  her  in  incessant  conversation. 

"  What  does  your  ladyship  say  to  a  walk  through  the 
grounds?"  said  he,  proffering  his  arm,  which  she  accepted,  and 
we  all  walked  out  together.     The  day  was  beautiful,  but  op- 


•  I  shall  be  pardoned,  I  am  sure,  by  the  classical  reader,  for  reminding  him  of 
the  exquisite  language  of  the  original  : — 

— rl  vpoayi'ha,  ri  rou  TrxfivaTocTOii  yihav; 

etl — a.1 ! kchqOioc  yap  olp^era/ 

oft/Lix  (pxil^O!)  a;  li'dov  rUi/au! 

ovK  »!/  "hvi/a.ijj.-nv ! 

Eur.  Med.  I03&— (0. 


THE  STATESMAN. — CHAPTEE  XIX.  351 

pressively  sultry,  and  we  turned  our  steps  towards  the  planta- 
tions. Mr  Stafford  and  I  walked  together,  and  slipped  a  little 
behind  for  the  purpose  of  conversation.  "  1  sha'n't  have  much 
opportunity  of  speaking  with  you,  doctor,"  said  he,  "  so  I'll  say 
what  is  uppermost  now.  Be  sure,  my  dear  doctor,  to  hurry 
from  the  field — which  is  about  four  miles  from  my  house — to 
Lady  Emma,  in  the  event  of  my  being  either  killed  or  wounded, 
and  do  what  you  think  best  to  prepare  my  wife  for  the  event. 
I  cannot  trust  her  to  better,  gentler  hands  than  yours — my  old, 

my  tried  friend ! You  know  where  my  will  is — and  I've 

given  directions  for  my  funeral." 

"  O  dear,  dear  StaiFord ! "  I  interrupted  him,  moved  almost 
to  tears,  "  don't  speak  so  hopelessly!  " 

"  0  doctor — nonsense !  there's  no  disguising  matters  from 
one's-self.     Is  there  a  chance  for  me  ?     No ;  I'm  a  murdered 

man;  and  can  you  doubt  it?     Lord can  do  only  one  thing 

well  in  the  world,  and  that  is,  hit  his  man  at  any  distance ;  and 

then  six  paces  off  each  other!    Lord  A may  say  what  he 

likes  ;  but  I  call  it  murder.  However,  the  absurd  customs  of 
society  must  be  complied  with ! — I  hope,"  he  added,  after  a 
pause,  "  that  when  the  nine  days'  wonder  of  the  affair  shall 
have  passed  off — if  I  fall — when  the  press  shall  cease  its  lying 
about  it — that  my  friends  will  do  justice  to  my  memory.  God 
knows,  I  really  love  my  country,  and  would  have  served  it:  it 
was  my  ambition  to  do  so ;  but  it's  useless  talking  now ! — I  am 
excessively  vexed  that  this  affair  should  have  occurred  before 

the question  comes  on,  in  preparation  for  which  I  have 

been  toiling  incessantly,  night  and  day,  for  this  month  past. 

I  know  that  great  expectations" At  that  instant.  Lord 

A and  Lady  Emma  met  us,  and  we  had  no  further  oppor- 
tunity of  conversing.  We  returned  to  lunch  after  a  few  minutes' 
longer  walk, 

"  God  bless  you,  Emma ! "  said  Mr  Stafford,  nodding,  with  an 
affectionate  smile,  as  he  took  wine  with  his  lady.  He  betrayed 
no  emotion  throughout  the  time  we  sat  together,  but  conversed 
long — and  often  in  a  lively  strain — on  the  popular  topics  of  the 
day.  He  rang  for  his  valet,  and  directed  him  to  have  his  toilet 
ready,  and  to  order  the  carriage  for  four  o'clock.    He  then  with- 


352  DIARY  or  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

drew .  and,  in  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  time,  returned 
dressed  in  a  blue  surtout  and  white  trowsers.  He  was  a  very 
handsome,  well-made  man,  and  seemed  dressed  with  particular 
elegance,  I  thought. 

"  Upon  my  honour,  Charles,  you  are  in  a  pretty  dinner-tvim" 
said  Lady  Emma;"anda^^  of  you,  I  protest!"  she  continued, 
looking  round  with  surprise  at  our  walking  dress.  Mr  Stafford 
told  her,  with  a  laugh,  that  we  were  going  to  meet  none  but 
bachelors. 

"  What ! — why,  where  will  the  Miss s  be?" 

"  Ordered  out,  my  lady,  for  the  day,"  replied  Lord  A 

with  a  smile,  promptly,  lest  his  friend  should  hesitate:  "'tis  to 
be  the  model  of  a  divan,  I  understand ! " 

"  Don't  be  late,  love ! "  said  Lady  Emma  to  her  husband,  as 
he  was  drawing  on  his  gloves ;  "  you  know  I've  little  enough  of 
you  at  all  times — don't — don't  be  late!  " 

"  No — no  later  than  I  can  help,  certainly !"  said  ho,  moving 
to  the  door. 

"  Say  eleven — will  you? — come,  for  once!" 

"  Well — yes.  I  will  return  by  eleven,"  he  replied  pointedly, 
and  I  detected  a  little  tremulousness  in  his  tone. 

"Papa!  papa!"  exclaimed  his  little  daughter,  running  across 
the  hall,  as  her  father  was  on  the  carriage  steps ;  "  Papa  !  papa ! 
may  I  sit  up  to-night  till  you  come  home?"  He  made  no  reply, 
but  beckoned  us  in  hurriedly — sat  back  in  his  seat — thundered 
"  Drive  on,  sir  !  " — and  burst  into  tears. 

"  O,  my  dear  fellow — Stafford — Stafford !  This  will  never 
do.  What  will  our  friends  on  the  ground  say?"  enquired 
Lord  A . 

"  What  they  like !  "  replied  Mr  Stafford  sternly,  still  in  tears. 
He  soon  recovered  himself. 

*     *     After  driving  some  time,  "  Now,  let  me  give  you  a  bit 

of  advice,"  said   Lord  A in  an  earnest  tone:    "we  shall 

say  only  one  word,  by  way  of  signal — '  Fire,'  and  be  sure  to  fire 
while  you  are  in  the  act  of  raising  your  pistol." 

"  Oh,  yes — yes — yes — I  understand" 

"Well,  but  be  sure;  don't  think  of  pointing  first,  and  then 
firing — or,  by ,  you'll  assuredly  fire  over  his  head,  or  fire 


THE  STATESMAN. CHAPTER  XIX.  353 

far  on  one  side.  Only  recollect  to  do  as  I  say,  and  you  will 
take  him  full  in  the  ribs,  or  clip  him  in  the  neck,  or  at  least 
wing  him." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  do  you  take  me  for  a  novice  ?     Do  you  for- 
get my  affair  with ?"  enquired  Mr  Stafford  impatiently. 

"  I  promised  to  meet  G about  here,"  said  Lord  A , 

putting  his  head  out  of  the  window.  "  Egad,  if  he  is  not  punc- 
tual, I  don't  know  what  we  shall  do,  for  he's  got  my  pistol-case. 
Where  — where  is  he  ? "  he  continued,  looking  up  the  road. 
"  There  ! "  he  exclaimed,  catching  sight  of  a  horseman  riding  at 

a  very  slow  pace.  After  we  had  overtaken  him,  and  Lord  A 

had  taken  the  pistol-case  into  the  carriage,  and  Mr  Stafford  had 
himself  examined  the  pistols  carefully,  we  rode  side  by  side  till 
we  came  near  the  scene  of  action.  During  that  time,  we  spoke 
but  little,  and  that  little  consisted  of  the  most  bitter  and  sar- 
castic expressions  of  Mr  Stafford's  contempt  for  his  opponent, 
and  regret  at  the  occurrence  which  had  so  tantalized  him,  allu- 
ding to  Lord 's  offer  of  the office.    About  ten  minutes 

to  seven  we  alighted,  and  gave  the  coachman  orders  to  remain 
there  till  we  returned.  The  evening  was  lovely — the  glare  of 
day  "mellowed  to  that  tender  light"  which  characterises  a 
suinmer  evening  in  the  country.  As  we  walked  across  the 
fields  towards  the  appointed  spot,  I  felt  sick  and  faint  with 

irrepressible  agitation,  and  Mr  G ,  the  surgeon,  with  whom 

I  walked,  joked  with  me  at  my  "  squeamishness,"  much  in  the 
style  of  tars  with  seasick  passengers.  "  There's  nothing  in  it 
— nothing,"  said  he  ;  "  they'll  take  care  not  to  hurt  one  another. 
'Tis  a  pity,  too,  that  such  a  man  as  Mr  Stafford  should  run  the 
risk.  What  a  noise  it  will  make  !"  I  let  him  talk  on,  for  I 
could  not  answer,  till  we  approached  the  fatal  field,  which  we 

entered  by  a  gap.     Lord  A got  through  first.     "  Punctual, 

however,"  said  he,  looking  round  at  Mr  Stafford,  who  was  fol- 
lowing.    "  There  they  are — just  getting  over  the  stile.     Ini- 
mitable coxcomb ! " 
"  Ay,  there  they  are,  sure  enough,"  replied  he,  shading  his 

eyes.    "  A ,  for  God's  sake,  take  care  not  to  put  me  against 

the  sunshine— it  will  dazzle" 

"  Oh,  never  fear  !  it  will  go  down  before  then ;  'tis  but  just 
I  a 


354  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

above  the  horizon  now."  A  touching  image,  I  thought !  It 
might  be  so  with  Mr  Stafford— Azs  "  sun  might  go  down— ai 
twon ! " 

"  Stop,  my  lord,"  said  Mr  Stafford,  motioning  Lord  A- 

back,  and  pressing  his  hand  to  his  forehead.  "  A  moment- 
allow  me  !     Let  me  see — is  there  any  thing  I've  forgot  ?    Oh, 

I  thought  there  was!"     He  hurriedly  requested  Lord  A , 

after  the  affair,  in  the  event  of  its  proving  bloody,  to  call  on  the 

minister  and  explain  it  all.     Lord  A promised  to  do  so 

"  Ah — here,  too,"  unbuttoning  his  surtout ;  "  this  must  not  be 
there,  I  suppose ; "  and  he  removed  a  small  gold  snuff-box  from 
his  right  to  his  left  waistcoat  pocket.  "  Let  the  blockhead  have 
his  full  chance." 

"Stuff,  stuff,  Stafford!     That's  Quixotic!"  muttered  Lord 

A .     He  was  much  paler,  and  more  thoughtful  than  I  had 

seen  him  all  along.  All  this  occurred  in  much  less  time  than  I 
have  taken  to  tell  it.     We  all  passed  into  the  field  ;  and,  as  we 

approached,  saw  Lord  and  his  second,  who  were  waiting 

our  arrival.  The  appearance  of  the  former  was  that  of  a  hand- 
some fashionable  young  man,  with  very  light  hair,  and  hghtly 
dressed  altogether ;  and  he  walked  to  and  fro,  switching  about  a 

little  riding-cane.     Mr   Stafford  released  Lord  A ,  who 

joined  the  other  second,  and  commenced  the  preliminary  arrange- 
ments. 

I  never  saw  a  greater  contrast  than  there  was  between  the 
demeanour  of  Mr  Stafford  and  his  opponent.  There  stood  the 
former,  his  hat  shading  his  eyes,  his  arms  folded,  eyeing  the 
motions  of  his  antagonist  with  a  look  of  supreme — of  utter  con- 
tempt ;  for  I  saw  his  compressed  and  curled  upper  lip.  Lord 
betrayed  an  anxiety — a  visible  effort  to  appear  uncon- 
cerned. He  "  overdid  it."  He  was  evidently  as  uneasy  in  the 
contiguity  of  Mr  Stafford,  as  the  rabbit  shivering  under  the 
baleful  glare  of  the  rattlesnake's  eye.     One  little  circumstance 

was  full  of  character  at  that  agitating  moment.    Lord , 

anxious  to  manifest  every  appearance  of  coolness  and  indif- 
ference, seemed  bent  on  demolishing  a  nettle,  or  some  other 
prominent  weed,  and  was  making  repeated  strokes  at  it  with 
the  little  whip  he  held.     This,  a  few  seconds  before  his  life  was 


THE  STATESMAN. CHAPTER  XIX.  355 

to  be  jeopardied !  Mr  Stafford  stood  watching  this  puerile  feat 
in  the  position  I  have  formerly  mentioned,  and  a  withering 
smile  stole  over  his  features,  while  he  muttered — if  I  heard 
correctly — "  Poor  boy !  poor  boy ! " 

At  length,  the  work  of  loading  being  completed,  and  the 
distance — six  paces — duly  stepped  out,  the  duellists  walked  up 
to  their  respective  stations.  Their  proximity  was  perfectly 
frightful.  The  pistols  were  then  placed  in  their  hands,  and  we 
stepped  to  a  little  distance  from  them. 

"Fire  !"  said  Lord  A ;  and  the  word  had  hardly  passed 

his  lips  before  Lord 's  ball  whizzed  close  past  the  ear  of  Mr 

Stafford.  The  latter,  who  had  not  even  elevated  his  pistol  at 
the  word  of  command,  after  eyeing  his  antagonist  for  an  instant 
with  a  scowl  of  contempt,  fired  in  the  air,  and  then  jerked  the 

pistol  away  towards  Lord  ,    with  the  distinctly  audible 

words — "  Kennel,  sir,  kennel ! "     He  then  walked  towards  the 

spot  where  Mr  G and  I  were  standing.     Would  to  heaven 

he  had  never  uttered  the  words  iw  question  !     Lord had 

heard  them,  and  followed  him,  furiously  exclaiming,  "  Do  you 
caU  this  satisfaction,  sir  ?"  and,  through  his  second,  insisted  on 
a  second  interchange  of  shots.  In  vain  did  Lord  A vehe- 
mently protest  that  it  was  contrary  to  all  the  laws  of  duelling, 
and  that  he  would  leave  the  ground.    They  were  inflexible.    Mr 

Stafford  approached  Lord  A ,  and  whispered,  "  For  God's 

sake,  A ,  don't  hesitate.    Load — load  again  !     The  fool  wili, 

rush  on  his  fate.  Put  us  up  again,  and  see  if  I  fire  a  second 
time  in  the  air!"  His  second  slowly  and  reluctantly  assented, 
and  reloaded.  Again  the  hostile  couple  stood  at  the  same  dis- 
tance from  each  other,  pale  with  fury ;  and,  at  the  word  of  com- 
mand, both  fired,  and  both  fell.    At  one  bound  I  sprung  towards 

Mr  Stafford,  almost  blind  with  agitation.     Lord  A had 

him  propped  against  his  knee,  and,  with  his  white  pocket- 
handkerchief,  was  endeavouring  to  stanch  a  wound  in  the  right 
side.  Mr  Stafford's  fire  had  done  terrible  execution,  for  his  ball 
had  completely  shattered  the  lower  jaw  of  his  opponent,  who 
was  borne  off  the  field  instantly.  Mr  Stafford  swooned,  and 
was  some  minutes  before  he  recovered,  when  he  exclaimed 
feebly,  "  God  forgive  me,  and  be  with  my  poor  wife ! "    We 


S56  DIARY  or  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

attempted  to  move  him,  when  he  swooned  a  second  time,  and 
we  were  afraid  it  was  all  over  with  him.  Again,  however  he 
recovered,  and,  opening  his  eyes,  he  saw  me  with  my  fingers  at 
his   pulse.      "Oh,   doctor,   doctor!    what  did  you  promise? 

Remember  Lady  Emm" he  could  not  get  out  the  word. 

I  waited  till  the  surgeon  had  ascertained  generally  the  nature  of 
the  wound,  which  he  presently  pronounced  not  fatal,  and  assisted 
in  binding  it  up,  and  conveying  him  to  the  carriage.    I  then 

mounted  Mr  G 's  horse,  and  hurried  on  to  communicate  the 

dreadful  intelligence  to  Lady  Emma.  I  galloped  every  step  of 
the  way,  and  found,  on  my  arrival,  that  her  ladysWp  had,  but  a 
few  moments  before,  adjourned  to  the  drawing-room,  where  she 
was  sitting  at  coifee.  Thither  I  followed  the  servant,  who 
announced  me.  Lady  Emma  was  sitting  by  the  tea-table,  and 
rose  on  hearing  my  name.  When  she  saw  my  agitated  manner, 
the  colour  suddenly  faded  from  her  cheeks.  She  elevated  her 
arms,  as  if  deprecating  my  intelligence ;  and,  before  I  could 
reach  her,  had  fallen  fainting  on  the  floor. 

******* 

I  cannot  undertake  to  describe  what  took  place  on  that  dread- 
ful night.  All  was  confusion — agony — despair.  Mr  Stafford 
was  in  a  state  of  insensibility  when  he  arrived  at  home,  and  was 
immediately  carried  up  to  bed.  The  surgeon  succeeded  in 
extracting  the  ball,  which  had  seriously  injured  the  fifth  and 
sixth  ribs,  but  had  not  penetrated  to  the  lungs.  Though  the 
wound  was  serious,  and  would  require  careful  and  vigilant 
treatment,   there  was  no  ground  for  apprehending  a  mortal 

issue.     As  for  Lord  ,  I  may  anticipate  his  fate.     The 

wound  he  had  received  brought  on  a  lock-jaw,  of  which  he  died 
in  less  than  a  week.     And  this  is  what  is  called  satisfaction! 

To  return : — All  my  attention  was  devoted  to  poor  Lady 
Emma.  She  did  not  even  ask  to  see  her  husband,  or  move  to 
leave  the  drawing-room,  after  recovering  from  her  swoon.  She 
listened,  with  apparent  calmness,  to  my  account  of  the  transac- 
tion, which,  the  reader  may  imagine,  was  as  mild  and  mitigated 
in  its  details  as  possible.  As  I  went  on,  she  became  more  and 
more  thoughtful,  and  continued,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the 
floor  motionless  and  silent.    In  vain  did  I  attempt  to  rouse  her, 


THE  STATESMAN. CHAPTER  XIX.  357 

by  soothing — threats — surprize.  She  would  gaze  full  at  me, 
and  relapse  into  her  former  abstracted  mood.  At  length  the 
drawing-room  door  was  opened  by  some  one — who  proved  to  be 

Lord  A ,  come  to  take  his  leave.  Lady  Emma  sprang  from  the 

sofa,  burst  from  my  grasp,  uttered  a  long,  loud,  and  frightful 
peal  of  laughter,  and  then  came  fit  after  fit  of  the  strongest  hys- 
terics I  ever  saw.  *  *  About  midnight,  Dr 
Baillie  and  Sir arrived,  and  found  their  patients  each  in- 
sensible, and  each  in  different  apartments.  Alas !  alas !  what 
a  dreadful  contrast  between  that  hour  and  the  hour  of  my  arrival 
in  the  morning  !  O  ambition  !  O  political  happiness  !  — 
mockery ! 

Towards  morning  Lady  Emma  became  calmer,  and,  under 
the  influence  of  a  pretty  powerful  dose  of  laudanum,  fell  into  a 
sound  sleep.     I  repaired  to  the  bedside  of  Mr  Stafford.     He  lay 

asleep,  Mr  G- ,  the  surgeon,  sitting  on  one  side  of  the  bed, 

!ind  a  nurse  on  the  other.  Yes,  there  lay  the  Statesman  !  his 
noble  features,  though  overspread  with  a  pallid,  a  cadaverous 
hue,  still  bearing  the  ineffaceable  impress  of  intellect.  There 
was  a  loftiness  about  the  ample  expanded  forehead,  and  a  stern 
commanding  expression  about  the  partially  knit  eyebrows,  and 
pallid  compressed  lips,  which,  even  in  the  absence  of  the  flash- 
ing eye,  bespoke 

the  great  soul, 

Like  an  imprison'd  eagle,  pent  ■within, 
That  fain  would  fly ! 

"  On  what  a  slender  thread  hangs  every  thing  in  life ! " 
thought  I,  as  I  stood  silently  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  gazing  on 
Mr  Stafford.  To  think  of  a  man  like  Stafford  falling  by  the 
hand  of  an  insignificant  lad  of  alordling — a  titled  bully  !  Oh, 
shocking  and  execrable  custom  of  duelling ! — blot  on  the  escut- 
cheon of  a  civilized  people ! — which  places  greatness  of  every 
description  at  the  mercy  of  the  mean  and  worthless  ;  which 
lyingly  pretends  to  assert  a  man's  honour  and  atone  for  insult, 
by  turning  the  tears  of  outraged  feeling  into  blood  ! 
About  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning,  (Monday,)  I  set  off  for 

-  town,  leaving  my  friend  in  the  skilful  hands  of  Mr  G ,  and 

'    promising  to  return,  if  possible,  in  the  evening.    About  noon, 


358  DIART  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

what  was  my  astonishment  to  hear  street-criers  yelling  every 
where  a  "  full,  true,  and  particular  account  of  the  bloody  duel 
fought  last  night  between  Mr  Stafford  and  Lord ! "  Curio- 
sity prompteil  me  to  purchase  the  trash.  I  need  hardly  say  that 
it  was  preposterous  nonsense.  The  "  duellists,"  it  seemed,  "fired 
six  shots  a-piece  " — and  what  will  the  reader  imagine  were  the 
"  dying  "  words  of  Mr  Stafford — according  to  these  precious 
manufacturers  of  the  marvellous  ? — "  Mr  Stafford  then  raised 
himself  on  his  second's  knee,  and,  with  a  loud  and  solemn  voice, 

said,  '  I  leave  my  everlasting  hatred  to  Lord ,  my  duty  to 

my  king  and  country — my  love  to  my  family — and  my  precious 
soul  to  God ! ' " 

The  papers  of  the  day,  however,  gave  a  tolerably  accurate 
account  of  the  affair,  and  unanimously  stigmatized  the  "pre- 
sumption" of  Lord in  calling  out  such  a  man  as  Mr 

Stafford — and  on  such  frivolous  grounds.  My  name  was,  most 
fortunately,  not  even  alluded  to.  I  was  glancing  through  the 
columns  of  the  evening  ministerial  paper,  while  the  servant  was 
saddling  the  horses  for  my  return  to  the  country,  when  my  eye 

lit  on  the  following  paragraph : — "  Latest  News.     Lord is 

appointed Secretary.     We  understand  that  Mr  Stafford 

had  the  refusal  of  it."     Poor  Stafford !  Lord  A had  called 

on  the  minister,  late  on  Sunday  evening,  and  acquainted  him 
with  the  whole  affair.  "  Sorry — very,"  said  the  premier.  "  Rising 

man  that — but  we  could  not  wait.     Lord  is  to  be  the 

man !  " 

I  arrived  at  Mr  Stafford's  about  nine  o'clock,  and  made  my 
way  immediately  to  his  bedroom.  Lady  Emma,  pale  and  ex- 
hausted, sat  by  his  bedside,  her  eyes  swollen  with  weeping.  At 
my  request  she  presently  withdrew,  and  I  took  her  place  at  my 
patient's  side.  He  was  not  sensible  of  my  presence  for  some 
time,  but  lay  with  his  eyes  half  open,  and  in  a  state  of  low  mur- 
muring delirium.  An  unfortunate  cough  of  mine,  close  to  his 
ear,  awoke  him,  and,  after  gazing  steadily  at  me  for  nearly  a 
minute,  he  recognized  me  and  nodded.  He  seemed  going  to 
speak  to  me,  but  I  laid  my  finger  on  my  lips  to  warn  him 
against  the  effort. 

"  One  word— one  only,  doctor,"  he  whispered  hastily— "Who 


THE  STATESMAN. CHAPTER  XIX.  359 

is  the Secretary  ?  "     "  Lord ,"  I  replied.     On  hearing 

the  name,  he  turned  his  head  away  from  me  with  an  air  of  in- 
tense chagrin,  and  lay  silent  for  some  time.  lie  presently 
uttered  something  like  the  words — "  too  hot  to  hold  him " — 
"  unseat  him  " — and  apparently  fell  asleep.  I  found,  from  the 
attendant,  that  all  was  going  on  well,  and  that  Mr  StaflFord  bade 
fair  for  a  rapid  recovery,  if  he  would  but  keep  his  mind  calm 
and  easy.  Fearful  lest  my  presence,  in  the  event  of  his  waking 
again,  might  excite  him  into  a  talking  mood,  I  slipped  silently 
from  the  room  and  betook  myself  to  Lady  Emma,  who  sat  await- 
ing me  in  her  boudoir.  I  found  her  in  a  flood  of  tears.  I  did 
all  in  my  power  to  soothe  her,  by  reiterating  my  solemn  assu- 
rances that  Mr  Stafford  was  beyond  all  danger,  and  wanted  only 
quiet  to  recover  rapidly. 

"  Oh,  Doctor !  how  could  you  decei  ve  me  so  yesterday  ? 

You  knew  all  about  it !  How  could  you  look  at  my  little  chil- 
dren, and  " Sobs  choked  her  utterance.    "  Well — I  suppose 

you  could  not  help  it !  I  don't  blame  you — but  my  heart  is 
nearly  broken  about  it !  Oh,  this  honour — this  honour !  1 
always  thought  Mr  Stafford  above  the  foolery  of  such  things !  " 
She  paused — I  replied  not — for  I  had  not  a  word  to  say  against 
what  she  uttered.     I  thought  and  felt  with  her. 

"  I  would  to  Heaven  that  Mr  Stafford  would  forsake  Parlia- 
ment for  ever !  These  hateful  politics !  He  has  no  peace  or 
rest  by  day  or  night ! "  continued  Lady  Emma,  passionately. 
"  His  nights  are  constantly  turned  into  day,  and  his  day  is  ever 
full  of  hurry  and  trouble  !  Heaven  knows,  I  would  consent  to 
be  banished  from  society — to  work  for  my  daily  bread — I  would 
submit  to  any  thing,  if  I  could  but  prevail  on  Mr  Stafford  to  re- 
turn to  the  bosom  of  his  family  !  Doctor,  my  heart's  happiness 
is  cankered  and  gone !  Mr  Stafford  does  but  tolerate  me — his 
heart  is  not  mine — it  isn't." Again  she  burst  into  tears. 

"  What  can  your  ladyship  mean  ?  "  I  enquired  with  surprise. 

"  What  I  say,  doctor,"  she  replied,  sobbing.  "  He  is  wedded 
to  ambition  !  ambition  alone !  Oh  !  I  am  often  tempted  to 
wish  I  had  never  seen  or  known  him  !  For  the  future,  I  shall 
live  trembling  from  day  to  day,  fearful  of  the  recurrence  of  such 
frightful  scenes  as  yesterday !  his  reason  will  be  failing  him — ■ 


360 


DIAKT  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 


his  reason!"  she  repeated  with  a  shudder,  "and  thenr'  Her 
emotions  once  more  deprived  her  of  utterance.  I  felt  for  her 
from  my  very  soul !  I  was  addressing  some  consolatory  remark 
to  her,  when  a  gentle  tapping  was  heard  at  the  door.  "Come 
in,"  said  Lady  Emma ;  and  Mr  StaflFord's  valet  made  his  appear- 
ance,  saying,  with  hurried  gestures  and  grimaces-"  Ah  doc- 
teur !  Mons.  deraisonne-il  est  fou  !  II  veut  ahsolumeiit  voir 
Milord !     Je  ne  puis  lui  faire  passer  cette  idee  la ! " 

"  Wliat  can  be  the  matter ! "  exclaimed  Lady  Emma,  looking 
at  me  with  alarm. 

"  Oh,  only  some  little  wandering,  I  dare  say ;  but  I'll  soon 
return  and  report  progress !  "  said  I,  prevailing  on  her  to  wait 
my  return,  and  hurrying  to  the  sick-chamber.  To  my  surprize 
and  alarm,  I  found  Mr  Stafford  sitting  nearly  bolt  upright  in 
bed,  his  eyes  directed  anxiously  to  the  door. 

.  "  ^^  "T~T'"  ^^"^^  ^^'  ^^  ®°°"  ^^  ^  ^^^  ^^^^"^^  ™y  s'^at  beside 
him,  "  I  insist  on  seeing  Lord ,"  naming  the  prime  minis- 
ter ;  "  I  positively  insist  upon  it !  Let  his  lordship  be  shown 
up  instantly."     I  implored  him  to  lie  down  at  the  peril  of  his 

life,  and  be  calm — but  he  insisted  on  seeing  Lord .    "  He  is 

gone,  and  left  word  that  he  would  call  at  this  time  to-morrow," 
said  I,  hoping  to  quiet  him. 

"  Indeed  ?  Good  of  him !  What  can  he  want  ?  The  office  is 
disposed  of.  There !  there !  he  has  stepped  back  again !  Show 
him  up— show  him  up !  What !  insult  the  King's  Prime  Minis- 
ter? Show  him  up,  Louis,"  addressing  his  valet,  adding  drow- 
sily, in  a  fainter  tone,  "  and  the  members — the  members— the— 
the — who  paired  off— who  pair" — he  sank  gradually  down  on  the 
pillow,  the  perspiration  burst  forth,  and  he  fell  asleep.  Finding 
he  slept  on  tranquilly  and  soundly,  I  once  more  left  him,  and 
having  explained  it  to  Lady  Emma,  bade  her  good-evening,  and 
returned  to  town.  The  surgeon  who  was  in  constant  attend- 
ance on  him,  called  at  my  house  during  the  afternoon  of  the 
following  day,  and  gave  me  so  good  an  account  of  him,  that  I 
did  not  think  it  necessary  to  go  down  till  the  day  after,  as  I  had 
seriously  broken  in  upon  my  own  practice.  When  I  next  saw 
him  he  was  mending  rapidly.  He  even  persuaded  me  into  allow- 
ing him  to  have  the  daily  papers  read  to  him — a  circumstance 


THE  STATESMAN. CHAPTER  XIX.  -361 

I  much  regretted  after  I  left  him,  and  suddenly  recollected  how 
often  the  public  prints  made  allusions  to  him— some  of  them  not 
very  kindly  or  complimentary.  But  there  was  no  resisting  his 
importunity.     He  had  a  wonderful  wheedling  way  with  him. 

Two  days  after,  he  got  me  to  consent  to  his  receiving  the  visits 
of  his  political  friends  ;  and  really  the  renewal  of  his  accustomed 
stimulus  conduced  materially  to  hasten  his  recovery. 

Scarcely  six  weeks  from  the  day  of  the  duel,  was  this  indefa- 
tigable and  ardent  spirit,  Mr  Stafford,  on  his  legs  in  the  House  of 
Commons,  electrifying  it  and  the  nation  at  large,  by  a  speech  of 
the  most  overwhelming  power  and  splendour!  He  flung  his 
scorching  sarcasms  mercilessly  at  the  astounded  Opposition, 
especially  at  those  who  had  contrived  to  render  themselves  in 
any  way  prominent  in  their  opposition  to  his  policy  during  his 
absence  !  By  an  artful  manoeuvre  of  rhetoric — a  skilful  allusion 
to  "  recent  unhappy  circumstances" — he  carried  the  House  with 
him,  from  the  very  commencement,  enthusiastically,  to  the  end, 
and  was  at  last  obliged  to  pause  almost  every  other  minute,  that 
the  cheering  might  subside.  The  unfortunate  nobleman  who  had 
stepped  into  the  shoes  which  had  been  first  placed  at  Mr  Staf- 
ford's feet — so  to  speak — came  in  for  the  cream  of  the  whole ! 
A  ridiculous  figure  he  cut !  Jokes,  sneers,  lampoons,  fell  upon 
him  like  a  shower  of  missiles  on  a  man  in  the  pillory.  He  was  a 
fat  man,  and  sat  perspiring  under  it.  The  instant  Mr  Staflbrd 
sat  down,  this  unlucky  personage  arose  to  reply.  His  odd  and 
angry  gesticulations,  as  he  vainly  attempted  to  make  himself 
heard  amidst  incessant  shouts  of  laughter,  served  to  clinch  the 
nail  which  had  been  fixed  by  Mr  Stafford ;  and  the  indignant 
senator  presently  left  the  House.  Another — and  another — and 
another  of  the  singed  ones,  arose  and  "  followed  on  the  same 
side  ;"  but  to  no  purpose.  It  was  in  vain  to  buffet  against  the 
spring-tide  of  favour  which  had  set  in  to  Mr  Stafford  !  That 
night  will  not  be  forgotten  by  either  his  friends  or  foes.  He 
gained  his  point  ! — within  a  fortnight  he  had  ousted  his  rival,  and 

was  gazetted Secretary  !     The  effort  he  made,  however,  on 

the  occasion  last  alluded  to,  brought  him  again  under  my  hands 
for  several  days.  Indeed,  I  never  had  such  an  intractable  patient! 
Ee  could  not  be  prevailed  on  to  show  any  mercy  to  his  constitu- 


362  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

tion — he  would  not  give  nature  fair  play.  Night  and  day- 
morning,  noon,   evening — spring,   summer,  autumn,  winter 

found  him  toiling  on  the  tempestuous  ocean  of  politics,  his  mind 
ever  laden  with  the  most  harassing  and  exhausting  cares.  The 
eminent  situation  he  filled,  brought  him,  of  course,  an  immense 
accession  of  cares  and  anxieties.  He  was  virtually  the  leader  of 
the  House  of  Commons ;  and,  though  his  exquisite  tact  and  talent 
secured  to  himself  personally  the  applause  and  admiration  of  all 
parties,  the  government  to  which  he  belonged  was  beginning  to 
disclose  symptoms  of  disunion  and  disorganization,  at  a  time 
when  public  affairs  were  becoming  every  hour  more  and  more 
involved — our  domestic  and  foreign  policy  perplexed — the  latter 
almost  inextricably — every  day  assuming  a  new  and  different 
aspect,  through  the  operation  of  the  great  events  incessantly 
transpiring  on  the  Continent.  The  national  confidence  began 
rapidly  to  ebb  away  from  the  ministers,  and  symptoms  of  a  most 
startling  character  appeared  in  different  parts  of  the  country. 
The  House  of  Commons — the  pulse  of  popular  feeling — began 
to  beat  irregularly — now  intermitting  —  now  with  feverish 
strength  and  rapidity — clearly  indicating  that  the  circulation 
was  disordered.  Nearly  the  whole  of  the  newspapers  turned 
against  the  ministry,  and  assailed  them  with  the  bitterest  and 
foulest  obloquy.  Night  after  night,  poor  Mr  Stafford  talked 
himself  hoarse,  feeling  that  he  was  the  acknowledged  mouth- 
piece of  the  ministry ;  but  in  vain.  Ministers  were  perpetually 
left  in  miserable  minorities ;  they  were  beaten  at  every  point. 
Their  ranks  presented  the  appearance  of  a  straggling  disbanded 
army  ;  those  of  the  Opposition  hung  together  like  a  shipwrecked 
crew  clinging  to  the  last  fragments  of  their  wreck.  Can  the 
consequences  be  wondered  at  ? 

At  length  came  the  Budget — word  of  awful  omen  to  many  a 
quaking  ministry!  In  vain  were  the  splendid  powers  of  Mr 
Stafford  put  into  requisition.  In  vain  did  his  masterly  mind 
fling  light  and  order  over  his  sombrous  chaotic  subject,  and 
simplify  and  make  clear  to  the  whole  country,  the,  till  then, 
dreary  jargon  and  mysticism  of  financial  technicalities.  In  vain, 
in  vain  did  he  display  the  sweetness  of  Cicero,  the  thunder  of 
Demosthenes.     The  leader  of  the  Opposition  rose,  and  coolly 


THE  STATESMAN. 'CHAPTER  XIX.  363 

turned  all  he  had  said  into  ridicule  ;  one  of  his  squad  then  started 
to  his  feet,  and  made  out  poor  Mr  Stafford  to  be  a  sort  of  minis- 
terial swindler;  and  the  rest  cunningly  gave  the  cue  to  the 
country,  and  raised  up  in  every  quarter  clamorous  dissatisfac- 
tion. Poor  Stafford  began  to  look  haggard  and  wasted;  aod  the 
papers  said  he  stalked  into  the  House,  night  after  night,  like  a 
spectre.  The  hour  of  the  ministry  was  come.  They  were 
beaten  on  the  first  item,  in  the  committee  of  supply.  Mr  Staf- 
ford resigned,  in  disgust  and  indignation;  and  that  broke  up  the 
government. 

I  saw  him  the  morning  after  he  had  formally  tendered  his 
resignation,  and  given  up  the  papers,  &c.,  of  office.  He  was 
pitifully  emaciated.  The  fire  of  his  eye  was  quenched,  his  sono- 
rous voice  broken.  I  could  scarcely  repress  a  tear,  as  I  gazed 
at  his  sallow,  haggard  features,  and  his  languid  limbs  drawn 
together  on  his  library  sofa. 

"Doctor — my  friend!  This  frightful  session  has  killed  me, 
I'm  afraid ! "  said  he.  "  I  feel  equally  wasted  in  body  and 
mind.     I  loathe  life — every  thing  ! " 

"  I  don't  think  you've  been  fairly  dealt  with !    You've  been 

crippled — shackled  " 

"  Yes — cursed — cursed — cursed  in  my  colleagues,"  he  inter- 
rupted me,  with  eager  bitterness ;  "  it  is  their  execrable  little- 
mindedness  and  bigotry  that  have  concentrated  on  us  the  hatred 
of  the  nation.  As  for  myself,  I  am  sacrificed,  and  to  no  pur- 
pose. I  feel  I  cannot  long  survive  it ;  for  I  am  withered,  root 
and  branch — withered  ! " 

"  Be  persuaded,  Mr  Stafford,"  said  I  gently,  "  to  withdraw 
for  a  while  and  recruit." 

"  Oh,  ay,  ay— any  whither — any  whither — as  far  off  as  possi- 
ble from  London — that's  all.  God  pity  the  man  that  holds 
office  in  these  times  !  The  talents  of  half  the  angels  in  heaven 
wouldn't  avail  him!  Doctor,  I  rave.  Forgive  me — I'm  in  a 
morbid,  nay,  almost  rabid  mood  of  mind.  Foiled  at  every  point 
— others  robbing  me  of  the  credit  of  my  labours — sneered  at  by 
fools — trampled  on  by  the  aristocracy — oh !  tut,  tut,  tut — fie  on 
it  aU ! " 


364  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

"  Have  you  seen  the  morning  papers,  Mr  Stafford?" 

"  Not  I,  indeed.     Sick  of  their  cant — lies — tergiversation 

scurrility.  I've  laid  an  embargo  on  them  all.  I  won't  let  one 
come  to  my  house  for  a  fortnight.  'Tis  adding  fuel  to  the  fire 
that  is  consuming  me." 

"  Ah,  but  they  represent  the  nation  as  calling  loudly  for  your 
reinstatement  in  office." 

"  Faugh— let  it  call !  Let  them  lie  on !  I've  done  with  them 
— for  the  present,  at  least." 

The  servant  brought  up  the  cards  of  several  of  his  late  col- 
leagues. "  Not  at  home,  sirrah ! — Harkee — ill— ill,"  thundered  his 
master.  I  sat  with  him  nearly  an  hour  longer.  Oh,  what  gall 
and  bitterness  tinctured  every  word  he  uttered  !  How  this  chafed 
and  fretted  spirit  spurned  at  sympathy,  and  despised — even 
acquiescence  !  He  complained  heavily  of  perfidy  and  ingratitude 
on  the  part  of  many  members  of  the  House  of  Commons ;  and 
expressed  his  solemn  determination — should  he  ever  return  to 
power — to  visit  them  with  his  signal  vengeance.  His  eyes  flashed 
fire,  as  he  recounted  the  instance  of  one  well-known  individual, 
whom  he  had  paid  heavily  beforehand  for  his  vote,  by  a  sinecure, 
and  by  whom  he  was,  after  all,  unblushingly  "  jockeyed,"  *  on 
the  score  of  the  salary  being  a  few  pounds  per  annum  less  than 
had  been  calculated  on  !  "  Oh,  believe  me,"  he  continued,  "  of 
all  knavish  traflicking,  there  is  none  like  your  political  traffick- 
ing ;  of  all  swindlers,  your  political  swindler  is  the  vilest." 
Before  I  next  saw  him,  the  new  ministry  had  been  named,  some 
of  the  leading  members  of  which  were  among  Mr  Stafford's 
bitterest  and  most  contemptuous  enemies,  and  had  spontaneously 
pledged  themselves  to  act  diametrically  opposite  to  the  policy  he 
had  adopted.  This  news  was  too  much  for  him ;  and,  full  of 
unutterable  fury  and  chagrin,  he  hastily  left  town,  and,  with  all 
his  family,  betook  himself,  for  an  indefinite  period,  to  a  distant 
part  of  England.  I  devoutly  hoped  that  he  had  now  had  his  sur- 
feit of  politics,  and  would  henceforth  seek  repose  in  the  domestic 
circle.  Lady  Emma  participated  anxiously  in  that  wish ;  she 
doated  on  her  husband  more  fondly  than  ever ;  and  her  faded 

*  '*  Jockeying — terme  politique  empmnt6  ^  Targot  special  dont  se  servent  les 
habetu^s  des  courses  do  chevaux  et  les  maquignons." — French  Trandator 


THE  STATESMAN. CHAPTEK  XIX.  365 

beauty  touchingly  told  with  what  deep  devotion  she  had  identified 
herself  with  her  husband's  interests. 

As  I  am  not  writing  a  life  of  Mr  Stafford,  I  must  leap  over  a 
further  interval  of  twelve  anxious  and  agitating  years.  He 
returned  to  Parliament,  and,  for  several  sessions,  shone  brilliantly 
as  the  leader  of  the  Opposition.  Being  freed  from  the  trammels 
of  office,  his  spirits  resumed  their  wonted  elasticity,  and  his 
health  became  firmer  than  it  had  been  for  years ;  so  that  there 
was  little  necessity  for  my  visiting  him  on  any  other  footing 
than  that  of  friendship. 

A  close  observer  could  not  fail  to  detect  the  system  of  Mr 
Stafford's  parliamentary  tactics.  He  subordinated  every  thing 
to  accomplish  the  great  purpose  of  his  life.  He  took  every 
possible  opportunity,  in  eloquent  and  brilliant  speeches,  of  fami- 
liarizing Parliament,  and  the  country  at  large,  with  his  own 
principles ;  dexterously  contrasting  with  them  the  narrow  and 
inconsistent  policy  of  his  opponents.  He  felt  that  he  was  daily 
increasing  the  number  of  his  partisans,  both  in  and  out  of  the 
House — and  securing  a  prospect  of  his  speedy  return  to  perma- 
nent power.  I  one  day  mentioned  this  feature,  and  told  him  I 
admired  the  way  in  which  he  gradually  iminuated  himself  into 
the  confidence  of  the  country. 

"Aha,  doctor!" — he  replied  briskly—"  to  borrow  one  of 
your  own  terms— I'm  vaccinating  the  nation  ! " 

July  — ,  18 — . — The  star  of  Stafford  again  Lord  of  the  Ascend- 
ent !    This  day  have  the  seals  of  the  office  been  intrusted 

to  ray  gifted  friend,  Stafford,  amid  the  thunders  of  the  Com- 
mons, and  the  universal  gratulations  of  the  country.  He  is 
virtually  the  leader  of  the  cabinet,  and  has  it  "  all  his  own  way  " 
with  the  House.  Every  appearance  he  makes  there  is  the  signal 
for  the  perfect  tempest  of  applause — with,  however,  a  few  light- 
ning gleams  of  inveterate  hostility.  His  course  is  full  of  dazzling 
dangers.  There  are  breakers  a-head — he  must  tack  about  inces- 
santly amid  shoals  and  quicksands.  God  help  him,  and  give 
him  calmness  and  self-possession — or  he  is  lost ! 

I  suppose  there  will  be  no  getting  near  him,  at  least  to  such 
an  insignificant  person  as  myself — unless  he  should  unhappily 


366  DIARY  OF  A  LATJE  PHYSICIAN. 

require  my  professional  services.  How  my  heart  beats  when  1 
hear  it  said  in  society,  that  he  seems  to  feel  most  acutely  the 
attacks  incessantly  made  on  him — and  appears  ill  every  day ! 
Poor  Stafford  !  I  wonder  how  Lady  Emma  bears  all  this ! 

I  hear  everywhere,  that  a  tremendous  opposition  is  organizing, 
countenanced  in  very  high  quarters,  and  that  he  wiU  have  hard 
work  to  maintain  his  ground.  He  is  paramount  at  present,  and 
laughs  his  enemies  to  scorn !  His  name,  coupled  with  almost 
idolatrous  expressions  of  homage,  is  in  every  one's  mouth  of  the 
varium  et  mutabile  semper !  His  pictures  are  in  every  shop  win- 
dow ;  dinners  are  given  him  every  week ;  addresses  forwarded 
from  all  parts  of  the  country ;  the  freedom  of  large  cities  and 
corporations  voted  him ;  in  short,  there  is  scarcely  any  thing 
said  or  done  in  public,  but  Mr  Staflford's  name  is  coupled  with  it, 

March.  — ,  18 — . — Poor  Stafford,  baited  incessantly  in  the 
House,  night  after  night.  Can  he  stand  ?  everj'  body  is  asking. 
He  has  commenced  the  session  swimmingly — as  the  phrase  is. 
Lady  Emma,  whom  I  accidentally  met  to-day  at  the  house  of  a 
patient — herself  full  of  feverish  excitement — gives  me  a  sad 
account  of  Mr  Stafford.  Restless  nights — incessant  sleep-talk- 
ing— continual  indisposition — ^loss  of  appetite ! 

Oh,  the  pleasures  of  politics,  the  sweets  of  ambition ! 

Saturday. — A  strange  hint  in  one  of  the  papers  to-day  about 
Mr  Stafford's  unaccountable  freaks  in  the  House,  and  treatment 
of  various  members.  What  can  it  mean  ?  A  fearful  suspicion 
glanced  across  my  mind^Heaven  grant  that  it  may  be  ground- 
less ! — on  coupling  with  this  dark  newspaper  hint  an  occurrence 
which  took  place  some  short  time  ago.     It  was  this :   Lady 

Amelia was  suddenly  taken  ill  at  a  ball  given  by  the  Duke 

of ,  and  I  was  called  in  to  attend  her.    She  had  swooned  in 

the  midst  of  the  dance,  and  continued  hysterical  for  some  time 
after  her  removal  home.  I  asked  her  what  had  occasioned  it  all 
— and  she  told  me  that  she  happened  to  be  passing,  in  the  dance, 
a  part  of  the  room  where  Mr  Stafford  stood,  who  had  looked  in 

for  a  few  minutes  to  speak  to  the  Marquis  of .     "  He  was 

standing  in  a  thoughtful  attitude,"  she  continued,  "  and,  some- 
how or  another,  I  attracted  his  attention  in  passing,  and  he  gave 


THE  STATESMAN. CHAPTER  XIX.  367 

me  one  of  the  most  fiendish  scowls,  accompanied  with  a  fright- 
ful glare  of  the  eye,  I  ever  encountered.  It  passed  from  his 
face  in  an  instant,  and  was  succeeded  by  a  smile,  as  he  nodded 
repeatedly  to  persons  who  saluted  him.  The  look  he  gave  me 
haunted  me,  and,  added  to  the  exhaustion  I  felt  from  the  heat  of 
the  room,  occasioned  my  swooning."  Though  I  felt  faint  at 
heart  while  listening  to  her,  I  laughed  it  oS",  and  said  it  must 
have  been  fancy.  "  No,  no,  doctor,  it  was  not,"  she  replied, 
"  for  the  Marchioness  of  — — •  saw  it  too,  and  no  later  than 
this  very  morning,  when  she  called,  asked  me  if  I  had  affronted 
Mr  Stafford." 

Could  it  be  so  ?  Was  this  "  look"  really  a  transient  ghastly 
out-flashing  of  insanity  ?  Was  his  great  mind  beginning  to 
stagger  under  the  mighty  burden  it  bore  ?  The  thought  agi- 
tated me  beyond  measure.  When  I  coupled  the  incident  in 
question  with  the  mysterious  hint  in  the  daily  paper,  my  fears 
were  awfully  corroborated.  I  resolved  to  call  upon  Mr  Stafford 
that  very  evening.  I  was  at  his  house  about  eight  o'clock,  but 
found  he  had  left  a  little  while  before  for  Windsor.  The  next 
morning,  however — Sunday — his  servant  brought  me  word  that 
Mr  Stafford  would  be  glad  to  see  me  between  eight  and  ten 
o'clock  in  the  evening.  Thither,  therefore,  I  repaired,  about 
half-past  eight.  On  sending  up  my  name,  his  private  secretary 
came  down  stairs,  and  conducted  me  to  the  minister's  library — 
a  spacious  and  richly  furnished  room.  Statues  stood  in  the 
window-places,  and  busts  of  British  statesmen  in  the  four  corners. 
The  sides  were  lined  with  book-shelves,  filled  with  elegantly 
bound  volumes ;  and  a  large  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room 
was  covered  with  tape-tied  packets,  opened  and  unopened  let- 
ters, &c.  A  large  bronze  lamp  was  suspended  from  the  ceiling, 
and  threw  a  peculiarly  rich  and  mellow  light  over  the  whole — 
and  especially  the  figure  of  Mr  Stafford,  who,  in  his  long  crimson 
silk  dressing-gown,  was  walking  rapidly  to  and  fro,  with  his  arms 
folded  on  his  breast.  The  first  glance  showed  me  that  he  was 
labouring  under  high  excitement.  His  face  was  pale,  and  his 
briUiant  eyes  glanced  restlessly  from  beneath  his  intensely  knit 
brows. 

"  My  dear  doctor,  an  age  since  I  saw  you  !     Here  I  am,  over- 


368  DIART  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

whelmed,  you  see,  as  usual ! "  said  he,  cordially  taking  me  by 
the  hand,  and  leading  me  to  a  seat.  "  My  dear  sir,  you  give 
yourself  no  rest— you  are  actually— you  are  rapidly  destroying 
yourself ! "  said  I,  after  he  had,  in  his  own  brief,  energetic,  and 
pointed  language,  described  a  train  of  symptoms  bordering  on 
those  of  brain-fever.  He  had,  unknown  to  any  one,  latterly 
taken  to  opium,  which  he  swallowed  by  stealth,  in  large  quanti- 
ties, on  retiring  to  bed  ;  and  I  need  hardly  say  how  that  of  itself 
was  sufficient  to  derange  the  functions  both  of  body  and  mind. 
He  had  lost  his  appetite,  and  felt  consciously  sinking  every  day 
into  a  state  of  the  utmost  languor  and  exhaustion — so  much  so 
that  he  was  reluctant  often  to  rise  and  dress,  or  go  out.  His 
temper,  he  said,  began  to  fail  him,  and  he  grew  fretful  and  irri- 
table with  every  body,  and  on  every  occasion.  "  Doctor,  doctor ! 
I  don't  know  whether  you'll  understand  me  or  not — but  every 
thing  GLARES  at  me  ! "  said  he.  "  Every  object  grows  suddenly 
invested  with  personality — animation ;  I  can't  bear  to  look  at 
them  !  I  am  oppressed,  I  breathe  a  rarefied  atmosphere  ! " — 
"  Your  nervous  system  is  disturbed,  Mr  Staflfbrd." — "  I  live  in 
a  dim  dream,  with  only  occasional  intervals  of  real  conscious- 
ness. Every  thing  is  false  and  exaggerated  about  me.  I  see, 
feel,  think,  through  a  magnifying  medium  ;  in  a  word,  I'm  in  a 
strange,  unaccountable,  terrible  state." 

"  Can  you  wonder  at  it,  even  if  it  were  worse  ?  "  said  I,  expos- 
tulating vehemently  with  him  on  his  incessant,  unmitigating, 
application  to  public  business.  "  Believe  me,"  I  concluded  with 
energy,  "  you  must  lie  by,  or  be  laid  by." 

"  Ah — good,  that — terse !  But  what's  to  be  done  ?  Must  I 
resign  ?  Must  public  business  stand  still  in  the  middle  of  the 
session  !     I've  made  my  bed,  and  must  lie  on  it." 

I  really  was  at  a  loss  what  to  say.  He  could  not  bear 
"  preaching"  or  "  prosing,"  or  any  thing  approaching  to  it.  I 
suffered  him  to  go  on  as  he  would — detailing  more  and  more 
symptoms  like  those  above  mentioned ;  clearly  enough  disclo- 
sing to  my  reluctant  eyes,  reason  holding  her  reins  loosely, 
unsteadily  ! 

"  I  can't  account  for  it,  doctor  ;  but  I  feel  sudden  fits  of  wild- 
ness  sometimes — ^but  for  a  moment,  however — a  second! — 0, 


THE  STATESMAN. — CHAPTER  XIX.  369 

my  Creator !  I  hope  all  is  yet  sound  here,  here  !  "  said  he,  press- 
ing his  hand  against  his  forehead.  He  rose,  and  walked  rapidly 
to  and  fro.  "  Excuse  me,  doctor,  I  cannot  sit  still ! "  said  he. 
*  *  *  "  Have  I  not  enough  to  upset  me  ? — Only  listen  to  a 
titlie  of  my  troubles,  now  ! — After  paying  almost  servile  court 
to  a  parcel  of  Parliamentary  puppies,  ever  since  the  commence- 
ment of  the  session,  to  secure  their  votes  on  tne Bill ;  having 

the  boobies  here  to  dine  with  me,  and  then  dining  with  them, 
week  after  week ;  sitting  down  gaily  with  fellows  whom  I  utterly, 
unutterably  despise — every  one  of  the  pack  suddenly  turned  tail 
on  me — stole,  stole,  stole  away — every  one — and  left  me  in  a 
ridiculous  minority  of  43  ! "  I  said  it  was  a  sample  of  the  annoy- 
ances inseparable  from  office.  "  Ay,  ay,  ay  ! "  he  replied  with 
impetuous  bitterness,  increasing  the  pace  at  which  he  was  walk- 
ing. "  Why — why  is  it,  that  public  men  have  no  principle,  no 
feeling,  no  gratitude,  no  sympathy?"  He  paused.  I  said, 
mildly,  that  I  hoped  the  throng  of  the  session  was  nearly  got 
through,  that  his  embarrassments  would  diminish,  and  he  would 
have  some  leisure  on  his  hands. 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  no  ! — my  difficulties  and  perplexities  increase 
and  thicken  on  every  side  !  Great  heavens  !  how  are  we  to  get 
on  ?  All  the  motions  of  government  are  impeded ;  we  are 
hemmed  in — blocked  up  on  every  side — the  state  vessel  is  sur- 
rounded with  closing,  crashing  icebergs  !  I  think  I  must  quit 
the  helm  !  Look  here,  for  instance  :  after  ransacking  all  the 
arts  and  resources  of  diplomacy,  I  had,  with  infinite  difficulty, 
succeeded  in  devising  a  scheme  for  adjusting  our  differ- 
ences. Several  of  the  continental  powers  have  acquiesced ;  all 
was  going  on  well ;  when,  this  very  morning,  comes  a  courier  to 
Downing  Street,  bearing  a  civil  hint  from  the  Austrian  cabinet, 
that,  if  I  persevered  with  my  project,  such  a  procedure  would  be 
considered  equivalent  to  a  declaration  of  war  !  So  there  we  are 
at  a  dead  stand  !  'Tis  all  that  execrable  Metternich  !  Subtle 
devil ! — He\  at  the  bottom  of  all  the  disturbances  in  Europe  ! 
Again — here,  at  home,  we  are  all  on  our  backs  !    I  stand  pledged 

to  the Bill.    I  will,  and  must  go  through  with  it.    My  con- 

[  sistency,  popularity,  place — all  are  at  stake !    I'm  hound  to  carry 

■  it !  and  only  yesterday  the ,  and ,  and families — 

2  a 


370  DIAEY  OF  A  lATE  PHYSICIAN. 

'gad  !  half  the  Upper  House— have  given  me  to  understand  I  must 
give  up  them  or  the Bill !  And  then  we  are  all  at  daggers- 
drawn  among  ourselves — a  cabinet-council  like  a  cockpit,  . 

and eternally  bickering !   And  again :  last  night  his  Majesty 

behaved  with  marked  coolness  and  hauteur  :  and,  while  sipping 
his  claret,  told  me,  with  stern  sang-froid,  that  his  consent  to 
the Bill  was  '  utterly  out  of  the  question.'  I  must  throw- 
overboard  the ,  a  measure  that  I  have  more  at  heart  than 

any  other !     It  is  whispered  that is  determined  to  draw  me 

into  a  duel ;  and,  as  if  all  this  were  not  enough,  I  am  perpetually 
receiving  threats  of  assassination  ;  and,  in  fact,  a  bullet  hissed 
close  past  my  hat  the  other  day,  while  on  horseback,  on  my  way 

to !     I  can't  make  the  thing  public — 'tis  impossible ;  and 

perhaps  the  very  next  hour  I  move  out,  I  may  be  shot  through 
the  heart !      O  God  !  what  is  to  become  of  me  ?    Would  to 

heaven  I  had  refused  the  seals  of  the oflBce  !    Doctor,  do 

you  think — the  nonsense  of  medicine  apart — do  you  think  you 
can  do  any  thing  for  me  ?  Any  thing  to  quiet  the  system— to 
cool  the  brain  ?  Would  bleeding  do  ? — Bathing  ?— What  ?  But 
mind  I've  not  much  time  for  physic ;  I'm  to  open  the ques- 
tion to-morrow  night ;  and  then  every  hour  to  dictate  fifteen  or 
twenty  letters  !     In  a  word" 

"  Lord ,*  sir,"  said  the  servant,  appearing  at  the  door. 

"  Ah,  execrable  coxcomb !  "  he  muttered  to  me.  "  I  know 
what  he  is  come  about — he  has  badgered  me  incessantly  for  the 
last  six  weeks  !  I  won't  see  him.  Not  at  home ! "  he  called 
out  to  the  servant.  He  paused.  "  Stay,  sirrah ! — beg  his  lord- 
ship to  walk  up  stairs."  Then  to  me — "  The  man  can  com- 
mand his  two  brothers'  votes — I  must  have  them  to-morrow 
night.  Doctor,  we  must  part " — hearing  approaching  footsteps. 
"  I've  been  raving  like  a  madman,  I  fear — but  not  a  word  to  any 
one  breathing !  Ah,  my  lord  !  good-evening — good-evening!" 
said  he,  with  a  gayety  and  briskness  of  tone  and  manner  that 
utterly  confounded  me — walking  and  meeting  his  visiter  half- 
way, and  shaking  him  by  the  hands.  Poor  Stafford!  I  returned 
to  my  own  quiet  home,  and  devoutly  thanked  God,  who  had 

•  "  lie  Colonel  0'  Morven,"  says  tlie  French  Translator. 


THE  STATESMAN. — CHAPTER  XIX.  371 

shut  me  out  from  such  splendid  misery  as  I  witnessed  in  the 
Right  Honourable  Charles  Stafford. 

Tuesday. — -Poor  Stafford  spoke  splendidly  in  the  House,  last 
night,  for  upwards  of  three  hours ;  and,  at  the  bottom  of  the 
reported  speech,  a  note  was  added,  informing  the  reader,  that 
"  Mr  Stafford  was  looking  better  than  they  had  seen  him  for 
some  months,  and  seemed  to  enjoy  excellent  spirits."  How 
little  did  he  who  penned  that  note  suspect  the  true  state  of 
matters — that  Mr  Stafford  owed  his  "  better  looks  "  and  "  excel- 
lent spirits"  to  an  intoxicating  draught  of  raw  brandy,  which 
alone  enabled  him  to  face  the  House.  I  read  his  speech  with 
agonizing  interest ;  it  was  full  of  flashing  fancy,  and  powerful 
argumentative  eloquence,  and  breathed  throughout  a  buoyant, 
elastic  spirit,  which  nothing  seemed  capable  of  overpowering  or 
depressing.  But  Mr  Stafford  might  have  saved  his  trouble  and 
anxiety — for  he  was  worsted,  and  his  bill  lost  by  an  overwhelm- 
ing majority!  Oh!  could  his  relentless  opponents  have  seen 
but  a  glimpse  of  what  I  had  seen,  they  would  have  spared  their 
noble  victim  the  sneers  and  railleries  with  which  they  pelted 
him  throughout  the  evening. 

Friday. — I  this  afternoon  had  an  opportunity  of  conversing 
confidentially  with  Mr  Stafford's  private  secretary,  who  corro- 
borated my  worst  fears,  by  communicating  his  own,  and  their 
reasons,  amounting  to  infallible  evidence,  that  Mr  Stafford  was 
beginning  to  give  forth  scintillations  of  madness.  He  would 
sometimes  totally  lose  his  recollection  of  what  he  had  done 
during  the  day,  and  dictate  three  answers  to  the  same  letter. 
He  would,  at  the  public  office,  sometimes  enter  into  a  strain  of 
conversation  with  his  astounded  underlings,  so  absurd  and 
imprudent — disclosing  the  profoundest  secrets  of  state — as 
must  have  inevitably  and  instantly  ruined  him,  had  he  not  been 
surrounded  by  those  who  were  personally  attached  to  him.    Mr 

communicated  various  other  little  symptoms  of  the  same 

kind.  Mr  Stafford  was  once  on  his  way  down  to  the  House  in 
his  dressing-gown,  and  could  be  persuaded  with  the  utmost 
difiSculty  only  to  return  and  change  it.     He  would  sometimes 


372  DIART  or  A  liATE  PHYSICIAN. 

go  down  to  his  country  house,  and  receive  his  lady  and  children 
with  such  an  extravagant — such  a  frantic — display  of  spirit  and 
gayety,  as  at  first  delighted,  then  surprised,  and  finally  alarmed 
Lady  Emma  into  a  horrid  suspicion  of  the  real  state  of  her  hus- 
band's mind. 

I  was  surprised  early  one  morning  by  his  coachman's  calling 
at  my  house,  and  desiring  to  see  me  alone ;  and,  when  he  was 
shown  into  my  presence,  with  a  flurried  manner,  many  apolo- 
gies for  his  "  boldness,"  and  entreaties — somewhat  Hibernian, 
to  be  sure,  in  the  wording — that  I  "  would  take  no  notice  what- 
ever of  what  he  said,"  he  told  me  that  his  master's  conduct  had 
latterly  been  "very  odd  and  queer-like."  That,  on  getting 
into  his  carriage,  on  his  return  from  the  House,  Mr  Stafford 
would  direct  him  to  drive  five  or  six  miles  into  the  country,  at 
the  top  of  his  speed — then  back  again — then  to  some  distant 
part  of  London — without  once  alighting,  and  with  no  apparent 
object ;  so  that  it  was  sometimes  five  or  six,  or  even  seven 
o'clock  in  the  morning  before  they  got  home !  "  Last  night,  sir," 
he  added,  "  master  did  'som'mut  uncommon  'stroardinary :  he 
told  me  to  drive  to  Greenwich  ;  and,  when  I  gets  there,  he  bids 

me  pull  up  at  the ,  and  get  him  a  draught  of  ale — and  then 

he  drinks  a  sup,  and  tells  me  and  John  to  finish  it,  and  then 
turn  the  horses'  heads  back  again  for  town ! "  I  gave  the  man 
half-a-guinea,  and  solemnly  enjoined  him  to  keep  what  he  had 
told  me  a  profound  secret. 

What  was  to  be  done  ? — what  steps  could  we  take? — ^how  deal 
with  such  a  public  man  as  Mr  Stafford  ?  I  felt  myself  in  a 
fearful  dilemma.  Should  I  communicate  candidly  with  Lady 
Emma  ?  I  thought  it  better,  on  the  whole,  to  wait  a  httle 
longer ;  and  was  delighted  to  find  that,  as  public  business  slack- 
ened a  little,  and  Mr  Stafford  carried  several  favourite  measures 
very  successfully,  and  with  comparatively  little  effort,  he  inter- 
mitted his  attention  to  business,  and  was  persuaded  into  spending 
the  recess  at  the  house  of  one  of  his  relatives,  a  score  or  two 
miles  from  town,  whose  enchanting  house  and  grounds,  and 
magnificent  hospitalities,  served  to  occupy  Mr  Stafi'ord's  mind 
with  bustling  and  pleasurable  thoughts.  Such  a  fortnight's 
interval  did  wonders  for  him.  Lady  Emma,  whom  I  had  request- 


THE  STATESMAN. CHAPTER  XIX.  373 

ed  to  write  frequently  to  me  about  him,  represented  things  more 
and  more  cheerfully  in  every  succeeding  letter — saying,  that 
the  "  distressing  Jlightiness,"  *  which  Mr  Stafford  had  occasion- 
ally evinced  in  town,  had  totally  disappeared ;  that  every  body 

at House  was  astonished  at  the  elasticity  and  joyousness  of 

his  spirits,  and  the  energy,  almost  amounting  to  enthusiasm, 
with  which  he  entered  into  the  glittering  gayeties  and  festivities 
that  were  going  on  around  him.  "  He  was  the  life  and  soul  of 
the  party."  He  seemed  determined  to  banish  business  from  his 
thoughts,  at  least  for  a  while ;  and  when  a  chance  allusion  was 
made  to  it,  would  put  it  off  gaily  with — "  Sufficient  for  the  day 
is  the  evil  thereof."  All  this  filled  me  with  consolation.  I  dis- 
missed the  apprehensions  which  had  latterly  harassed  my  mind 
concerning  him,  and  heartily  thanked  God  that  Mr  Stafford's 
splendid  powers  seemed  likely  to  be  yet  long  spared  to  the 
country — that  the  hovering  fiend  was  beaten  off  from  his  victim 
— might  it  be  for  ever ! 

The  House  at  length  resumed ;  Mr  Stafford  returned  to  town, 
and  all  his  weighty  cares  again  gathered  around  him.  Hardly 
a  few  days  had  elapsed  before  he  delivered  one  of  the  longest, 
calmest,  most  argumentative  speeches  which  had  ever  fallen 
from  him.  Indeed,  it  began  to  be  commonly  remarked,  that 
all  he  said  in  the  House  wore  a  matter-of-fact,  business-like  air, 
which  nobody  could  have  expected  from  him.  All  this  was 
encouraging.  The  measure  which  he  brought  forward  in  the 
speech  last  alluded  to,  was  hotly  contested,  inch  by  inch,  in  the 
House,  and  at  last,  contrary  even  to  his  own  expectations,  car- 
ried, though  by  an  inconsiderable  majority.  All  his  friends 
congratulated  him  on  his  triumph. 

"  Yes,  I  HAVE  triumphed  at  last,"  he  said  emphatically,  as  he 
left  the  House.  He  went  home  late  at  night,  and  alarmed, 
confounded  his  domestics,  by  calling  them  all  up,  and — it  is 
lamentable  to  have  to  record  such  things  of  such  a  man — 
insisting  on  their  illuminating  the  house — candles  in  every  win- 
dow— in  front  and  behind !     It  was  fortunate  that  Lady  Emma 

*  '*  Les  Anglais  ont  le  mot  ^ fiightiness,'  fuite,  Ieg6ret6  de  1 'esprit :  expression 
tr^s  remarquable  dans  sa  justesse,  et  sans  Equivalent  en  Franyais." — French 
Translator, 


374  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PirrSICIAN. 

and  her  family  had  not  yet  returned  from House,  to  wit- 
ness this  unequivocal  indication  of  returning  insanity.  He 
himself  personally  assisted  at  the  ridiculous  task  of  lighting  the 
candles,  and  putting  them  in  the  windows ;  and,  when  it  was 
completed,  actually  harangued  the  assembled  servants  on  the 
signal  triumph  he  and  the  country  had  obtained  that  night  in 
the  House  of  Commons,  and  concluded  by  ordering  them  to 
extinguish  the  lights,  and  adjourn  to  the  kitchen  to  supper, 
when  he  would  presently  join  them,  and  give  them  a  dozen  of 
wine  !  He  was  as  good  as  his  word :  yes,  Mr  Stafford  sat  at 
the  head  of  his  confounded  servants — few  in  number  on  account 
of  the  family's  absence — and  engaged  in  the  most  uproarious 
hilarity  !  Fortunately,  most  fortunately,  his  conduct  was  unhe- 
sitatingly attributed  to  intoxication — in  which  condition  he  was 
really  carried  to  bed  at  an  advanced  hour  in  the  morning,  by 
those  whom  nothing  but  their  bashful  fears  had  saved  from 
being  similarly  overcome  by  the  wine  they  had  been  drinking. 
All  this  was  told  me  by  the  coachman,  who  had  communicated 
with  me  formerly — and  with  tears,  for  he  was  an  old  and  faith- 
ful servant.  He  assiduously  kept  up  among  his  fellow-servants 
the  notion  that  their  masters  drunkenness  was  the  cause  of  his 
extraordinary  behaviour. 

I  called  on  him  the  day  after,  and  found  him  sitting  in  his 
library,  dictating  to  his  secretary,  whom  he  directed  to  withdraw 
as  soon  as  I  entered.  He  then  drew  his  chair  close  to  mine,  and 
burst  into  tears. 

"  Doctor,  would  you  believe  it,"  said  he,  "  I  was  horridly 
drunk  last  night — I  can't  imagine  how — and  am  sure  I  did 
something  or  other  very  absurd  among  the  servants.  I  dare 
not,  of  course,  ask  any  of  them — and  am  positively  ashamed  to 
look  even  my  valet  in  the  face !" 

"  Poh,  poh — Semel  insanivimus  omnes,"  I  stammered,  attempt- 
ing to  smile,  scarcely  knowing  what  to  say. 

"Don't— don't  desert  me,  doctor!"  he  sobbed,  clasping  my 
hand,  and  looking  sorrowfully  in  my  face — "  Don't  you  desert 
me,  my  tried  friend.  Every  body  is  forsaking  me  !  The  King 
hates  me— the  Commons  despise  me— the  people  would  have 
my  blood,  if  they  dared !     And  yet  why  ?— What  have  I  done  ? 


THE  STATESMAN. — CHAPTER  XIX.  375 

God  knows,  I  liave  done  every  tln'cg  for  the  best — indeed, 
indeed  I  have  ! "  he  continued,  grasping  my  hand  in  silence. 

"There's  a  terrible  plot  hatching  against  me!" — Hush!" 
He  rose  and  bolted  the  door.  "  Did  you  see  that  fellow  whom 
I  ordered  out  on  your  entrance?" — naming  his  private  secre- 
tary— "  Well,  that  infamous  fellow  thinks  he  is  to  succeed  me 
in  my  office,  and  has  actually  gained  over  the  King  and  several 
of  the  aristocracy  to  his  interest  1 " 

"Nonsense — nonsense — stuff! — You  have  wine  in  your  head, 
Mr  Stafford,"  said  I  angrily,  trying  to  choke  down  my  emotions. 

"No,  no — sober  enough  now,  Doctor  .     I'll  tell  you 

what  (albeit  unused  to  the  melting  mood)  has  thus  overcome 
me:  Lady  Emma  favours  the  scoundrel!  They  correspond! 
My  children,  even,  are  gained  over ! — But  Emma,  my  wife,  my 
love,  who  could  have  thought  it  1 "  *  *  *  I  succeeded  in 
calming  him,  and  he  began  to  converse  on  different  subjects, 

although  the  fiend  was  manifest  again.      "  Doctor  ,  I'll 

intrust  you  with  a  secret — a  state  secret !  You  must  know 
that  I  have  long  entertained  the  idea  of  uniting  all  the  Euro- 
pean states  into  one  vast  republic,  and  have  at  last  arranged  a 
scheme  which  will,  I  think,  be  unhesitatingly  adopted.     I  havi 

written  to  Prince on  the  subject,  and  expect  his  answer 

soon  !  Isn't  it  a  grand  thought ! "  I  assented,  of  course.  "  It 
will  emblazon  my  name  in  the  annals  of  eternity,  beyond  all 
Roman  and  all  Grecian  fame,"  he  continued,  waving  his  hand 
oratorically ;  "  but  I've  been — yes,  yes — premature ! — My  secret 
is  safe  with  you.  Doctor ? " 

"  Oh,  certainly ! "  I  replied,  with  a  melancholy  air,  uttering 
a  deep  sigh. 

"  But  now  to  business.  I'll  tell  you  why  I've  sent  for  you.'' 
I  had  called  unasked,  as  the  reader  will  recollect.     "I'll  tell 

you,"  he  continued,  taking  my  hand  affectionately  : — "  Dr , 

I  have  known  you  now  for  many  years,  ever  since  we  were  at 
Cambridge  together,"  (my  heart  ached  at  the  recollection,) 
"  and  we  have  been  good  friends  ever  since.  I  have  noticed  that 
you  have  never  asked  a  favour  from  me  since  I  knew  you. 
Every  one  else  has  teased  me — but  I  have  never  had  a  request 
preferred  me  from  you,  my  dear  friend."     He  burst  into  tears, 


376  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN 

mine  very  nearly  overflowing.  There  was  no  longer  any  doubt 
that  Mr  Stafford — the  great,  the  gifted  Mr  Stafford — was  sitting 
before  me  in  a  state  of  idiocy  ! — of  madness  !  I  felt  faint  and 
sick  as  he  proceeded.  "  Well,  I  thank  God  I  have  it  now  in  my 
power  to  reward  you — to  offer  you  something  that  will  fully 
show  the  love  I  bear  you,  and  my  unlimited  confidence  in  your 
talents  and  integrity.  I  have  determined  to  recall  our  ambas- 
sador at  the  Court  of ,  and  shall  supply  his  place" — he 

looked  at  me  with  a  good-natured  smile — "  by  my  friend,  Dr 

! "     He  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  eyed  me  with  a 

triumphant,  a  gratified  air,  evidently  preparing  himself  to  be 
overwhelmed  with  my  thanks.  In  one  instant,  however,  "a 
change  came  o'er  the  aspect  of  his  dream."  His  features  grew 
suddenly  disturbed,  now  flushed,  now  pale ;  his  manner  grew 
restless  and  embarrassed ;  and  I  felt  convinced  that  a  lucid  inter- 
val had  occurred — that  a  consciousness  of  his  having  been 
either  saying  or  doing  something  very  absurd,  had  that  instant 

flashed  across  his  mind  !     "  Ah,  I  see,  Dr ,"  he  resumed, 

in  an  altered  tone,  speaking  hesitatingly,  while  a  vivid  glance 
shot  from  his  eye  into  my  very  soul,  as  though  he  would  see 
whether  I  had  detected  the  process  of  thought  which  had  passed 
through  his  mind — "you  look  surprised — ha,  ha!— and  well 
you  may !     But  now  I'll  explain  the  riddle.     You  must  know 

that  Lord is  expecting  to  be  our  new  ambassador,  and,  in 

fact,  I  viust  ofiPer  it  him ;  but — but— I  wish  to  pique  him  into 
declining  it,  when  I'll  take  offence— by— telling  him— hinting 
carelessly,  that  one  of  my  friends  had  the  prior  refusal  of  it!" 

Did  not  the  promptitude  and  plausibility  of  this  pretext 
savour  of  madness  ?  He  hinted,  soon  after,  that  he  had  much 
business  in  hand,  and  I  withdrew.  I  fell  back  in  my  carriage, 
and  resigned  myself  to  bitter  and  agonizing  reflections  on  the 
scene  I  had  just  quitted.  What  was  to  be  done  ?  Mr  Stafford, 
by  some  extravagant  act,  might  commit  himself  frightfully  with 
public  affairs. 

Lady  Emma,  painful  as  the  task  was,  must  be  written  to. 
Measures  must  now  be  had  recourse  to.  The  case  admitted  of 
no  further  doubt.  Yes,  this  great,  this  unfortunate  man,  must 
be  put  into  constraint,  and  that  immediately.    In  the  tumult  ot 


A  SLIGHT  COLD. CHAPTEE  XX.  377 

my  thoughts,  I  scarcely  knew  what  to  decide  on ;  but,  at  last,  I 

ordered  the  man  to  drive  to  the  houses  of  Sir  ,  and  Dr 

,  and  consult   with   them  on   the   proper  course   to  be 

pursued. 

Oh,  God ! — Oh,  horror ! — Oh,  my  unhappy  soul ! — Despair ! 

Hark  ! — what  do  I  hear  ? — Do  I  hear  aright 

******* 
Have  I  seen  aright — or  is  it  all  a  dream  ? — Shall  I  awake  to- 
morrow, and  find  it  false  ?  * 


»  CHAPTER  XX. 

A  SLIGHT  cold- 
Consider  "a  slight  cold"  to  be  in  the  nature  of  a  chill, 
caught  by  a  sudden  contact  with  your  grave ;  or  as  occasioned 
by  the  damp  finger  of  death  laid  upon  you,  as  it  were,  to  mark 
you  for  HIS,  in  passing  to  the  more  immediate  object  of  his  com- 
mission. Let  this  be  called  croaking,  and  laiighed  at  as  such, 
by  those  who  are  "  awearied  of  the  painful  round  of  life,"  and 
are  on  the  look-out  for  their  dismissal  from  it ;  but  be  learnt  off 
by  heart,  and  remembered  as  having  the  force  and  truth  of 

*  The  following  is  the  concluding  note  of  the  French  Translator,  which  is 
here  copied  verbatim : — 

"  Note  du  Trad. — La  premiere  partie  de  cette  esquisse  si  touchante  semhle 
serapporter  k  M.  Canning;  la  derniere  i  Lord  Castlereagh.  Quel  que  soit  au 
surphiB  *rhomme  politique,'  dont  Tauteur  de  ces  souvenirs  a  voulu  parler, 
nous  ne  doubtons  pas  de  la  verite  de  son  recit.  Ces  articles,  dont  nous  pub- 
lierons  la  suite,  out  excite  de  nombreuses  reclamations  en  Angleterre.  Plus 
d'une  famille  s'est  plainte  de  I'indiscretion  de  I'auteur.  On  a  pretendu  qu'en 
trahissant  les  mysteres  de  la  vie  privee  que  sa  pratique  lui  a  fait  connaitre,  il 
avail  viole  les  lois  imposees  par  la  morale,  la  religion  du  median.  Les  cou- 
leurs  employees  par  I'ecrivain  sont  d'aUleurs  d'une  realite  frappante.  Chatham 
est  mort,  extenue  par  ses  travaux  parliamentaires ;  il  est  tombe  sans  connais- 
sance  en  prononjant  son  dernier  discours  ^  la  Chambre  des  Lords.  Sheridan 
et  Bdeke  avaient  I'intelligence  affaiblie  quand  ils  ont  expirfe.  Castlereagh  et 
Samuel  Eomilly  se  sont  donnes  la  mort.  Canning  a  peri  devore  par  les  anxit- 
tes  U'homme  d'etat." 


378  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

gtispel,  by  all  those  who  would  "  measure  out  their  span  upon 
the  earth,"  and  are  conscious  of  any  constitutional  flaw  or  feeble- 
ness ;  who  are  distinguished  by  any  such  tendency  death-ward, 
as  long  necks — narrow,  chicken  chests — very  fair  complexions 
— exquisite  sympathy  with  atmospheric  variations ;  or,  in  short, 
exhibit  any  symptoms  of  an  asthmatic  or  consumptive  character 
— IP  they  choose  to  neglect  a  slight  colb. 

Let  not  those  complain  of  being  bitten  by  a  reptile,  which  thej 
have  cherished  to  maturity  in  their  very  bosoms,  when  the\ 
might  have  crushed  it  in  the  egg !  Now,  if  we  call  "  a  shght 
cold"  theegg,*  and  pleurisy — inflammation  of  the  lungs — asthma 
—consumption,  the  venomous  reptile — the  matter  will  be  no  more 
than  correctly  figured.  There  are  many  ways  in  which  this  "egg" 
may  be  deposited  and  hatched.  Going  suddenly,  slightly  clad, 
from  a  heated  into  a  cold  atmosphere,  especially  if  you,can  con- 
trive to  be  in  a  state  of  perspiration — sitting  or  standing  in  a 
draught,  however  slight — it  is  the  breath  of  death,  reader,  and 
laden  with  the  vapours  of  the  grave !  Lying  in  damp  beds,  for 
there  his  cold  arms  shall  embrace  you — continuing  in  wet 
clothing,  and  neglecting  wet  feet — these  and  a  hundred  others, 
are  some  of  the  ways  in  which  you  may  slowly,  imperceptibly, 
but  surely,  cherish  the  creature,  that  shall  at  last  creep  inextri- 
cably inwards,  and  lie  coiled  about  your  very  vitals.  Once 
more,  again — again — again — I  would  say,  attend  to  this,  all  ye 
who  think  it  a  small  matter  to — neglect  a  slight  cold  ! 

So  many  painful — I  may  say  dreadful  illustrations  of  the 
truth  of  the  above  remarks,  are  strewn  over  the  pages  of  my 
Diary,  that  I  scarcely  know  which  of  them  to  select.  The  fol- 
lowing melancholy  "  instance "  will,  I  hope,  prove  as  impres- 
sive, as  I  think  it  interesting. 

Captain  C had  served  in  the  Peninsular  campaigns  with 

distinguished  merit ;  and,  on  the  return  of  the  British  army, 
sold  out,  and  determined  to  enjoy  in  private  life  an  ample  for- 
tune bequeathed  him  by  a  distant  relative.  At  the  period  I  am 
speaking  of,  he  was  in  his  twenty-ninth  or  thirtieth  year;  and,  in 
person,  one  of  the  very  finest  men  I  ever  saw  in  my  life.  There  was 

•  Omnium  prope  quib  us  affligimur  morborum  origo  et  quasi  semen,  says  an  iiitel» 
ligent  medical  writer  of  tlie  last  century. 


A  SLIGHT  COLD. CHAPTER  XX.  379 

an  air  of  ease  and  frankness  about  his  demeanour,  dashed  with 
a  little  pensiveness,  which  captivated  every  body  with  whom  he 
conversed — but  the  ladies  especially.  It  seemed  the  natural 
eflFect  produced  on  a  bold  but  feeling  heart,  by  frequent  scenes  of 
sorrow.  Is  not  such  a  one  formed  to  win  over  the  heart  of 
■woman  ?  Indeed,  it  seemed  so  :  for,  at  the  period  I  am  speak- 
ing of,  our  English  ladies  were  absolutely  infatuated  about  the 
military ;  and  a  man  who  had  otherwise  but  little  chance,  had 
only  to  appear  in  regimentals,  to  turn  the  scale  in  his  favour. 
One  would  have  thought  the  race  of  soldiery  was  about  to 
become  suddenly  extinct  ;  for  in  almost  every  third  marriage 
that  took  place  within  two  years  of  the  magnificent  event  at 
Waterloo— whether  rich  or  poor,  high  or  low — a  red-coat  was 
sure  to  be  the  "  principal  performer."  Let  the  reader  then,  being 
apprized  of  this  influenza — for  what  else  was  it  ? — set  before  his 

imagination  the  tall,  commanding  figure  of  Captain  C ,  his 

frank  and  noble  bearing — his  excellent  family — his  fortune, 
upwards  of  four  thousand  a-year— and  calculate  the  chances  in 
his  favour ! 

I  met  him  several  times  in  private  society,  during  his  stay  in 
town,  and  have  his  image  vividly  in  my  eye,  as  he  appeared  on 
the  last  evening  we  met.  He  wore  a  blue  coat,  white  waistcoat, 
and  an  ample  black  neckerchief  His  hair  was  very  light,  and 
disposed  with  natural  grace  over  a  remarkably  fine  forehead,  the 
left  corner  of  which  bore  the  mark  of  a  slight  sabre  cut.  His 
eye,  bright  hazel — clear  and  full — ^which  you  would,  in  your  own 
mind,  instantly  compare  to  that  of 

Mars — to  threaten  and  command, 

was  capable  of  an  expression  of  the  most  winning  and  soul-sub- 
duing tenderness.  Much  more  might  I  say  in  his  praise,  and 
truly — but  that  I  have  a  melancholy  end  in  view.  Suffice  it  to 
add,  that,  wherever  he  moved,  he  seemed  the  sun  of  the  social 
circle,  gazed  on  by  many  a  soft  starlike  eye,  with  trembling 
rapture — the  envied  object  of 

Nods,  becks,  and  wreathed  smiles, 

from  all  that  was  fair  and  beautiful. 


380  DIAET  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

He  could  not  remain  long  disengaged.     Intelligence  soon 
found  its  way  to  town,  of  his  having  formed  an  attachment  to 

Miss   Ellen  ,  a  wealthy  and  beautiful  northern  heiress 

whose  heart  soon  surrendered  to  its  skilful  assailant.  Every 
body  was  pleased  with  the  match,  and  pronounced  it  suitable  in 

all  respects.     I  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing  Captain  C and 

Miss  together  at  an  evening  party  in  London;  for  the 

young  lady's  family  spent  the  season  in  town,  and  were,  of 
course,  attended  by  the  Captain,  who  took  up  his  quarters  in 
— — ■  Street.     A  handsome  couple  they  looked. 

This  was  nearly  twelve  months  after  their  engagement ;  and 
most  of  the  preliminaries  had  been  settled  on  both  sides,  and  the 

event  was  fixed  to  take  place  within  a  fortnight  of  Miss 

and  family's  return  to shire.     The  last  day  of  their  stay  in 

town,  they  formed  a  large  and  gay  water  party,  and  proceeded 
up  the  river  a  little  beyond  Richmond,  in  a  beautiful  open  boat, 

belonging  to  Lord ,  a  cousin  of  the  captain's.    It  was  rather 

late  before  their  return  :  and,  long  ere  their  arrival  at  Westmin- 
ster Stairs,  the  wind  and  rain  combined  against  the  party,  and 
assailed  them  with  a  fury,  against  which  their  awning  formed 

but  an  insufficient  protection.     Captain  C had  taken  an  oar 

for  the  last  few  miles  ;  and,  as  they  had  to  pull  against  a  strong 
tide,  his  task  was  not  a  trifling  one.  When  he  resigned  his  oar, 
he  was  in  a  perfect  bath  of  perspiration  ;  but  he  drew  on  his 
coat,  and  resumed  the  seat  he  had  formerlj'  occupied  beside  Miss 

,  at  the  back  of  the  boat.     The  awning  unfortunately  got 

rent  immediately  behind  where  they  sat ;  and,  what  with  the 
splashing  of  the  water  on  his  back,  and  the  squally  gusts  of 

wind  which  incessantly  burst  upon  them.  Captain  C got 

thoroughly  wet  and  chilled.    Miss grew  uneasy  about  him ; 

but  he  laughed  oif  her  apprehensions,  assuring  her  that  they 
were  groundless,  and  that  he  was  "  too  old  a  soldier  "  to  suffer 
from  such  a  trifling  thing  as  a  little  "  wind  and  wet."  On  leav- 
ing the  boat,  he  insisted  on  accompanying  them  home  to 

Square,  and  stayed  there  upwards  of  an  hour,  busily  conversing 
with  them  about  their  departure  on  the  morrow.  While  there, 
he  took  a  glass  or  two  of  wine,  but  did  not  change  his  clothes. 
On  returning  to  his  lodgings,  he  was  too  busily  and  pleasantly 


A  SLIGHT  COLD. — CHAPTER  XX. 


381 


occupied  with  thoughts  about  his  approaching  nuptials,  to  ad- 
vert to  the  necessity  of  using  more  precautions  against  cold, 
before  retiring  to  bed.  He  sat  down  in  his  dressing-room,  with- 
out ordering  a  fire  to  be  lit,  and  wrote  two  or  three  letters ;  after 
which  he  got  into  bed.  Now,  how  easy  it  wouM  have  been  for 
Captain  C to  obviate  any  possible  ill  consequences,  by  sim- 
ply ringing  for  warm  water  to  put  his  feet  in,  and  a  basin  of 
gruel,  or  posset  ?  He  did  not  do  either  of  these,  however ; 
thinking  it  would  be  time  enough  to  "  cry  out  when  he  was 
hurt."     In  the  morning  he  rose,  and,  though  a  little  indisposed, 

immediately  after  breakfast  drove  to Square,  to  see  off 

Miss and  the  family ;  for  it  had  been  arranged  that  he 

should  remain  behind  a  day  or  two,  in  order  to  complete  a  few 

purchases  of  jewellery,  &c.,  and  then  follow  the  party  to 

shire.  He  rode  on  horseback  beside  their  travelling  carriage  a 
few  miles  out  of  town ;  and  then  took  his  leave  and  returned. 
On  his  way  home  he  called  at  my  house ;  but,  finding  me  out, 
left  his  card,  with  a  request  that  I  would  come  and  see  him  in 
the  evening.  About  seven  o'clock  I  was  with  him.  I  found 
him  in  his  dressing-gown,  in  any  easy-chair,  drinking  coffee. 
He  looked  rather  dejected,  and  spoke  in  a  desponding  tone. 
He  complained  of  the  common  symptoms  of  catarrh ;  and 
detailed  to  me  the  account  which  I  have  just  laid  before 
the  reader.  I  remonstrated  with  him  on  his  last  night's  im- 
prudence. 

"  Ah,  Doctor ,  I  wish  to  Heaven  I  had  rowed  on  to  West- 
minster, tired  as  I  was  ! "  said  he—"  Good  God,  what  if  I  have 
caught  my  death  of  cold  ?  You  cannot  conceive  how  singular 
my  sensations  are." 

"  That's  generally  the  way  with  patients  after  the  mischief's 
done,"  I  replied,  with  a  smile.     "  But  come !  come !  only  take 
care  of  yourself,  and  matters  are  not  at  all  desperate ! " 
"  Heigh  ho  ! " 

"  Sighing  like  a  furnace,"  I  continued  gaily,  on  hearing  him 
utter  several  sighs  in  succession—"  You  sons  of  Mars  make  hot 
work  of  it,  both  in  love  and  war !"— Again  he  sighed.  "  Why, 
what's  the  matter,  captain?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing— nothing,"  he  replied  languidly ;  "  I  suppose 


382  DIART  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

a  cold  generally  depresses  one's  spirits— is  it  so  ?  Is  it  a  si-m  of 
a  severe  " 

"  It  is  a  sign  that  a  certain  person  " 

"  Poh,  doctor,  poh !  "  said  he,  with  an  air  of  lassitude,  "  don't 
think  me  so  childish ! — I'll  tell  you  candidly  what  has  contri- 
buted to  depress  my  spirits.  For  this  last  week  or  so,  I've  had 
a  strange  sort  of  conviction  that  " 

"  Nonsense — none  of  your  nervous  fancies  " 

"  Ah,  but  I  have,  doctor,"  he  continued,  scarcely  noticing  the 
interruption;  "I  have  felt  a  sort  of  presentiment — a  foreboding 
that — that — someihing  or  other  would  occur  to  prevent  my  mar- 
riage ! " 

"  Oh,  tush,  tush ! — every  one  has  those  low  nervous  fancies 
that  is  not  accustomed  to  sickness." 

"  Well — it  may  be  so — I  hope  it  may  be  nothing  more ;  but 
I  seem  to  hear  a  voice  whispering — or,  at  least,  to  be  under  an 
influence  to  that  effect,  that  the  cup  will  be  dashed  brimful  from 
my  lips — a  fearful  slip  !  It  seems  as  if  my  Ellen  were  too  great 
a  happiness  for  the  Fates  to  allow  me." 

"  Too  great  a  fiddlestick,  captain  ! — so  your  scJioolboy  has  a 
fearful  apprehension  that  he  cannot  outlive  the  day  of  his  finally 
leaving  school — too  glorious  and  happy  an  era ! " 

"  I  know  well  what  you  allude  to — but  7nine  is  a  calm  and 
rational  apprehension  " 

"  Come,  come.  Captain  C ,  this  is  going  too  far.    Raillery 

apart,  however,  I  can  fully  enter  into  your  feelings,"  I  con- 
tinued, perceiving  his  morbid  excitement.  "'Tis  but  human 
nature  to  feel  trepidation  and  apprehension  when  approaching 
some  great  crisis  of  one's  existence.  One  is  apt  to  give  un- 
favourable possibilities  an  undue  preponderance  over  probabili- 
ties ,•  and  it  is  easily  to  be  accounted  for,  on  the  known  tendency 
we  find  within  ourselves,  on  ordinary  occasions,  to  shape  events 
according  to  our  ivisJies — and  in  our  over-anxiety  to  guard 
against  such  "^ 

"  Very  metaphysical — very  true,  I  dare  say  " 

"  Well — to  be  matter-of-fact — /  had  all  your  feelings — per- 
haps greatly  aggravated — at  the  time  of  my  own  marriage  " 

"Eh?— indeed?— Had  you  really?"  he   enquired  eagerly, 


A  SLIGHT  COID. CHAPTER  XX.  383 

laying  his  hand  on  mine — continuing,  with  an  air  of  anxious 
curiosity — "  Did  you  ever  feel  a  sort  of  conviction  that  some 
mysterious  agency  was  awaiting  your  approach  towards  the 
critical  point,  and,  when  just  within  reach  of  your  object,  would 
suddenly  smite  you  down  ?  " 

"  Ay,  to  be  sure,"  said  I,  smiling ;  a  mere  flutter  of  feeling — 
which  you  see  others  have  besides  yourself;  but  that  you — 
trained  to  confront  danger — change — casualties  of  all  sorts 
— that  you — you,  with  your  frame  of  Herculean  build  " 

"Well — a  truce  to  your  banter!"  he  interrupted  me,  some- 
what impatiently ;  "  I  shouldn't  mind  taking  you  ten  to  one 
that  I  don't  live  to  be  married  after  all !" 

"  Come,  this  amounts  to  a  symptom  of  your  indisposition. 
You  have  got  more  fever  on  you  than  I  thought — and  you  grow 
light-headed ! — you  must  really  get  to  bed,  and,  in  the  morning, 
all  these  fantasies  will  be  gone." 

"  Well — I  hope  iu  God  they  may !  But  they  horridly  oppress 
me  !    I  own  that,  latterly,  I've  given  in  a  little  io  fatalism." 

This  won't  do  at  all,  thought  I,  taking  my  pen  in  hand,  and 
beginning  to  write  a  prescription. 

"  Are  you  thirsty  at  all?  any  catching  in  the  side  when  you 
breathe?  any  cough?"  &c.  &c.,  said  I,  asking  him  the  usual  rou- 
tine of  questions.  I  feared,  from  the  symptoms  he  described, 
that  he  had  caught  a  very  severe,  and,  possibly,  obstinate  cold 
— so  I  prescribed  active  medicines.  Amongst  others,  I  recol- 
lect ordering  him  one-fourth  of  a  grain  of  tartarized  antimony 
every  four  hours,  for  the  purpose  of  encouraging  the  insensible 
perspiration,  and  thereby  determining  the  fever  outwards.  I 
then  left  him,  promising  to  call  about  noon  the  next  day,  ex- 
pressing my  expectations  of  finding  him  perfectly  recovered 
from  his  indisposition.  I  found  him  the  following  morning  in 
bed,  thoroughly  under  the  influence  of  the  medicines  I  had  pre- 
scribed, and,  in  fact,  much  better  in  every  respect.  The  whole 
surface  of  his  body  was  damp  and  clammy  to  the  touch,  and  he 
had  exactly  the  proper  sensation  of  nausea — both  occasioned  by 
the  antimony.  I  contented  myself  with  prescribing  a  repeti- 
tion of  the  medicines. 


384  DIARY  OF  A  rATE  PHYSICIAN. 

"  Well,  Captain,  and  what  has  become  of  your  gloomy  fore- 
bodings of  last  night?"  I  enquired  with  a  smile. 

"  Why — hem !  I'm  certainly  not  quite  so  desponding  as  I  was 
last  night;  but  still,  the  goal — the  goal's  not  reached  yet !  I'm 
not  well  yet — and,  even  if  I  were,  there's  a  good  fortnight's 
space  for  contingencies  ! "  *  *  I  enjoined  him  to  keep  house 
for  a  day  or  two  longer,  and  persevere  with  the  medicines  du- 
ring that  time,  in  order  to  his  complete  recovery,  and  he  reluc- 
tantly acquiesced.     He  had  written  to  inform  Miss ,  that 

owing  to  "  a  slight  cold,"  and  his  jeweller's  disappointing  him 
about  the  trinkets  he  had  promised,  his  stay  in  town  would  be 
prolonged  two  or  three  days.  This  circumstance  had  fretted 
and  worried  him  a  good  deal. 

One  of  the  few  enjoyments  which  my  professional  engage- 
ments permitted  me,  was  the  opera,  where  I  might,  for  a  while, 
forget  the  plodding  realities  of  life,  and  wander  amid  the  mag- 
nificent regions  of  music  and  imagination.  Few  people,  indeed, 
are  so  disposed  to  "  make  the  most "  of  their  time  at  the  opera 
as  medical  men,  to  whom  it  is  a  sort  of  stolen  pleasure ;  they 
sit  on  thorns,  liable  to  be  summoned  out  immediately — to 
exchange  the  bright  scenes  of  fairyland  for  the  dreary  bedside 
of  sickness  and  death.  I  may  not,  perhaps,  speak  the  feeUngs 
of  my  more  phlegmatic  brethren ;  but  the  considerations  above 
named  always  occasion  me  to  sit  listening  to  what  is  going  on 
in  a  state  of  painful  suspense  and  nervousness,  which  is  aggra- 
vated by  the  slightest  noise  at  the  box-door — by  the  mere  trying 
of  the  handle.  On  the  evening  of  the  day  in  question,  a  friend 
of  my  wife's  had  kindly  allowed  us  the  use  of  her  box ;  and  we 
were  both  sitting  in  our  places  at  a  musical  banquet  of  unusual 
splendour ;  for  it  was  Catalani's  benefit.  In  looking  round  the 
house,  during  the  interval  between  the  opera  and  the  ballet,  I 
happened  to  cast  my  eye  towards  the  opposite  box,  at  the 
moment  it  was  entered  by  two  gentlemen  of  very  fashionable 
appearance.  Fancying  that  the  person  of  one  of  them  was 
familiar  to  me,  I  raised  my  glass,  my  sight  being  rather  short. 
I  almost  let  it  fall  out  of  my  hand  with  astonishment — for  one 

of  the  gentlemen  was — Captain  C ! — he  whom  I  had  that 

morning  left  in  bed !  Scarcely  believing  that  I  had  seen  aright, 


A  SLIGHT  COIB. CHAPTER  XX.  385 

I  redirected  my  glass  to  the  same  spot — but  there  was  no  mis- 
taking the  stately  and  handsome  person  of  my  patient.  There 
he  stood,  with  the  gay,  and  even  rather  flustered  air  of  one  who 
has  but  recently  adjourned  thither  from  the  wine-table!  He 
seemed  in  -very  high  spirits — his  face  flushed — chatting  inces- 
santly with  his  companion,  and  smiling  and  nodding  frequently 
towards  persons  in  various  parts  of  the  house.  Concern  and 
wonder  at  his  rashness— his  madness — in  venturing  out  under 
such  circumstances,  kept  me  for  some  time  breathless.     Could 

I  really  be  looking  at  my  patient,  Captain  C ? — him  whom 

I  had  left  in  bed,  under  the  influence  of  strong  sudorifics?— who 
had  faithfully  promised  that  he  would  keep  within  doors  for  two 
or  three  days  longer?  What  had  induced  him  to  transgress  the 
order  of  his  medical  attendant — thus  to  put  matters  in  a  fair 
train  for  verifying  his  own  gloomy  apprehensions  expressed  but 
the  evening  before  ? — Thoughts  like  these  made  me  so  uneasy, 
that,  after  failing  to  attract  his  eye,  I  resolved  to  go  round  to 
his  box  and  remonstrate  with  him.  After  tapping  at  the  door 
several  times  without  being  heard,  on  account  of  the  loud  tones 
in  which  they  were  laughing  and  talking,  the  door  was  opened. 

"Good  God!  Doctor  !"  exclaimed  Captain  C in 

amazement,  rising  and  giving  me  his  hand.  "  Why,  what  on 
earth  is  the  matter  ?    What  has  brought  you  here  ?    Is  any  thing 

wrong  ?   Heavens !  have  you  heard  any  thing  about  Miss ?" 

he  continued,  all  in  a  breath,  turning  pale. 

"  Not  a  breath — not  a  word — But  what  has  brought  you 
here.  Captain?  Are  you  stark  staring  mad?"  I  replied,  as  I 
continued  grasping  his  hand,  which  was  even  then  damp  and 
clammy. 

"  Why — why — nothing  particular,"  he  stammered,  startled 
by  my  agitated  manner.  "  What  is  there  so  very  wonderful  in 
my  coming  to  the  opera?  Have  I  done  wrong,  eh?"  he  en- 
quired after  a  pause. 

"  You  have  acted  like  a  madman,  Captain  C ,  in  venturing 

even  out  of  your  bedroom,  while  under  influence  of  the  medi- 
cines you  were  taking  ! " 

"  Oh,  nonsense,  my  dear  doctor,  nonsense !  What  harm  can 
there  be  ?    I  felt  infinitely  better  after  you  left  me  this  morning ; " 

1  .23 


386  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHTSIOIAN. 

and  he  proceeded  to  explain,  that  his  companion,  to  whom  he 

introduced  me,  was  Lieutenant ,  the  brother  of  his  intended 

bride ;  that  he  had  that  morning  arrived  in  town  from  Ports- 
mouth, had  called  on  the  captain,  and,  after  drinking  a  glass 
or  two  of  champagne,  and  forcing  the  captain  to  join  him,  had 
prevailed  on  him  to  accompany  him  to  dinner  at  his  hotel.  Lieu- 
tenant    overcame  all   his  scruples — laughed  at  the  idea 

of  his  "  slight  cold,"  and  said  it  woidd  be  "  unkind  to  refuse 
the  brother  of  Ellen !" — so,  after  dinner  they  both  adjourned  to 
the  opera.  I  nodded  towards  the  door,  and  we  both  left  the  box 
tor  a  moment  or  two. 

"  Why,  Doctor ,  you  don't  mean  to  say  that  I'm  running 

any  7-eal  risk?"  he  enquired,  with  some  trepidation.  "What 
could  I  do,  you  know,  when  the  lieutenant  there — only  just 
returned  from  his  cruise — Ellen's  brother,  you  know" 

"  Excuse  me.  Captain  .     Did  you  take  the  medicines  I 

ordered,  regularly,  up  to  the  time  of  your  going  out  ?  "  I  enquired 
anxiously. 

"  To  be  sure  I  did  ;  punctual  as  clockwork  ;  and,  egad  !  now, 
I  think  of  it,"  he  added  eagerly,  "  I  took  a  double  dose  of  the 
powders,  just  before  leaving  my  room,  by  way  of  making  '  assu- 
rance doubly  sure,'  you  know — ha,  ha !  Right,  eh ! 

"  Have  you  perspired  during  the  day,  as  usual  ?  " 

"  Oh,  profusely — profusely  !  Egad,  I  must  have  sweated  all 
the  fever  out  long  ago,  I  think  !  I  hadn't  been  in  the  open  air 
half  an  hour,  when  my  skin  was  as  dry  as  yours — as  dry  as  ever 
it  was  in  my  life.  Nay,  in  fact,  I  felt  rather  chilled  than  other- 
wise." 

"  Allow  me,  captain — did  you  drink  much  at  dinner  ?" 

"  Why — I  own — I  think  I'd  my  share ;  these  tars,  you  know — 
such  cursed  soakers  " 

"  Let  me  feel  your  pulse,"  said  I.  It  was  full  and  thrilling, 
beating  upwards  of  one  hundred  a  minute.  My  looks,  I  suppose, 
alarmed  him  ;  for,  while  I  was  feeling  his  pulse,  he  grew  very 
pale,  and  leaned  against  the  box-door,  saying,  in  a  fainter  tone 
than  before,  "  I'm  afraid  I've  done  wrong  in  coming  out.  Your 
looks  alarm  me." 

"  You  have  certainly  acted  very — very  imprudently ;  but  I 


A  SLIGHT  COLD. CHAPTER  XX.  387 

hope  the  mischief  is  not  irremediable,"  said  I,  in  as  cheerful  a 
tone  as  I  could,  for  I  saw  that  he  was  growing  excessively  agi- 
tated.    "  At  all  events,  if  you'll  take  my  advice" 

"  If  ! — there's  no  need  of  taunting  me" 

"  Well,  then,  you'll  return  home  instantly,  and  muffle  yourself 
up  in  your  cloak  as  closely  as  possible." 

"  I  will !  By  the  way,  do  you  remember  the  bet  I  ofiered 
you  ?  "  said  he,  with  a  sickly  smile,  wiping  the  perspiration  from 
his  forehead.  "I — I — fear  you  may  take  it,  and  win!  Good 
God  !  what  evil  star  is  over  me  ?  Would  to  Heaven  this  Lieu- 
tenant   had  never  crossed  my  path  ! — I'll  return  home  this 

instant,  and  do  all  you  recommend  ;  and,  for  God's  sake,  call 

early  in  the  morning,  whether  I  send  for  you  or  not !    By ! 

your  looks  and  manner  have  nearly  given  me  the  brain  fever !" 
I  took  my  leave,  promising  to  be  with  him  early ;  and  advising 
him  to  take  a  warm  bath  the  moment  it  could  be  procured — to 
persevere  with  the  powders — and  lie  in  bed  till  I  called.  But, 
alas  !  alas  !  alas  !  the  mischief  had  been  bone  ! 

"  Dear  me,  what  a  remarkably  fine-looking  man  that  Captain 

C is,"  said  my  wife,  as  soon  as  I  had  reseated  myself  beside 

her. 

"  He  is  a  dead  man,  my  love,  if  you  like ! "  I  replied,  with  a 
melancholy  air.  The  little  incident  just  recorded  made  me  too 
sad  to  sit  out  the  ballet,  so  we  left  very  early,  and  I  do  not  think 
we  interchanged  more  than  a  word  or  two  in  going  home ;  and 

those  were,  "  Poor  Miss  ?" — "Poor  Captain  C !"     I 

do  not  pretend  to  say  that  even  the  rash  conduct  of  Captain 

C ,  and  its  probable  consequences,  could,  in  every  instance, 

warrant  such  gloomy  fears ;  but  in  his  case  I  felt,  with  himself, 
a  sort  of  superstitious  apprehension,  I  knew  not  why. 

I  found  him,  on  calling  in  the  morning,  exhibiting  the  inci- 
pient symptoms  of  inflammation  of  the  lungs.  He  complained 
of  increasing  difficulty  of  breathing— a  sense  of  painful  oppres- 
sion and  constriction  all  over  his  chest,  and  a  hard  harassing 
cough,  attended  with  excruciating  pain.  His  pulse  quivered 
and  thrilled  under  the  finger,  like  a  tense  harpstring  after  it 
has  been  twanged ;  the  whole  surface  of  his  body  was  dry  and 
heated ;  his  face  was  flushed,  and  full  of  anxiety.     A  man  of  his 


388  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

robust  constitution  and  plethoric  habit  was  one  of  the  very 
worst  subjects  of  inflammation !  I  took  from  the  arm,  myself, 
a  very  large  quantity  of  blood,  which  presented  the  usual 
appearance  in  such  cases,  and  prescribed  active  lowering  reme- 
dies. But  neither  these  measures,  nor  the  application  of  a  large 
blister  in  the  evening,  when  I  again  saw  him,  seemed  to  make 
any  impression  on  the  complaint,  so  I  ordered  him  to  be  bled 

again.     Poor  Captain  C !    From  that  morning  he  prepared 

himself  for  a  fatal  termination  of  his  illness,  and  lamented,  in 
the  most  passionate  terms,  that  he  had  not  acted  up  to  my 
advice  in  time ! 

On  returning  home  from  my  evening  visit,  I  found  an 
express,  requiring  my  instant  attendance  on  a  lady  of  distinc- 
tion in  the  country,  an  old  patient  of  mine ;  and  was  obliged 
to  hurry  off,  without  having  time  to  do  more  than  commit  the 

care  of  Captain  C ,  and  another  case  equally  urgent,  to 

Dr  D ,  a  friend  of  mine  close  by,  imploring  him  to  keep 

up  the  most  active  treatment  with  the  captain,  and  promising 
him  that  I  should  return  during  the  next  day.  I  was  detained 
in  the  country  for  two  days,  during  which  I  scarcely  left  Lady 

's  bedroom  an  instant;  and  before  I  left  for  town,  she 

expired,  under  heart-rending  circumstances.  On  returning  to 
town,  I  found  several  urgent  cases  requiring  my  instant  atten- 
tion ;  and,  first  and  foremost,  that  of  poor  Captain  C .    Dr 

D was  out,  so  I  hurried  to  my  patient's  bedside  at  once. 

It  cannot  injure  any  one,  at  this  distance  of  time,  to  state  plainly 
that  the  poor  Captain's  case  had  been  most  deplorably  mis- 
managed during  my  absence.     It  was  owing  to  no  fault  of  my 

friend,  Dr  D ,  who  had  done  his  utmost,  and  had  his  own 

large  practice  to  attend  to.  He  was  therefore  under  the  neces- 
sity of  committing  the  case  to  the  more  immediate  superinten- 
dence of  a  young  and  inexperienced  member  of  the  profession, 
who,  in  his  ignorance  and  timidity,  threw  aside  the  only  chances 

for  Captain  C ^"s  life — repeated  blood-letting.     Only  once 

did  Mr bleed  him,  and  then  took  away  about  four  ounces ! 

Under  the  judicious  management  of  Dr  D ,  the  inroads  of 

the  inflammation  had  been  sensibly  checked  ;  but  it  rallied  again, 
and  made  head  against  the  languid  resistance  continued  by  the 


A  SLIGHT  COLD. — CHAPTER  XX.  389 

young  apothecary ;  so  that  I  arrived  but  in  time  to  witness  the 
closing  scene. 

He  was  absolutely  withering  under  the  fever :  the  difficulty 
with  which  he  drew  his  breath  amounted  almost  to  suffocation. 
He  had  a  dry,  hacking  cough — the  oppression  of  his  chest  was 
greater  than  ever;  and  what  he  expectorated  was  of  a  Mack 
colour !  He  was  delirious,  and  did  not  know  me.  He  fancied 
himself  on  the  river  rowing — then  endeavouring  to  protect  Miss 

from  the  inclemency  of  the  weather;  and  the  expressions 

of  moving  tenderness  which  he  coupled  with  her  name  were 

heart-breaking.     Then,  again,  he  thought  himself  in shire, 

superintending  the  alterations  of  his  house,  which  was  getting 
ready  for  their  reception  on  their  marriage.     He  mentioned  my 

name,  and  said,  "What  a  gloomy  man  that  Dr is,  Ellen ! — 

he  keeps  one  stewing  in  bed  for  a  week,  if  one  has  but  a  common 
cold!" 

Letters   were   dispatched  into  shire,    to    acquaint  his 

family,  and  that  of  Miss ,  with  the  melancholy  tidings  of 

his  dangerous  illness.     Several  of  his  relations  soon  made  their 

appearance ;  but  as  Miss 's  party  did  not  go  direct  home, 

but  stayed  a  day  or  two  on  the  way,  I  presume  the  letters  reached 

House  long  before  their  arrival,  and  were  not  seen  by  the 

family  before  poor  Captain  C had  expired. 

I  called  again  on  him  in  the  evening.  The  first  glance  at  his 
countenance  sufficed  to  show  me  that  he  could  not  survive  the 
night.  I  found  that  the  cough  and  spitting  had  ceased  suddenly ; 
he  felt  no  pain:  his  feeble,  varying  pulse  indicated  that  the 
powers  of  nature  were  rapidly  sinking.  His  lips  had  assumed 
a  fearfully  livid  hue,  and  were  occasionally  retracted  so  as  to 
show  all  his  teeth ;  and  his  whole  countenance  was  fallen.  He 
was  quite  sensible,  and  aware  that  he  was  dying.  He  bore  the 
intelligence  with  noble  fortitude,  saying,  it  was  but  the  fruit  of 
his  own  imprudence  and  folly.  He  several  times  ejaculated, 
"  Oh,  Ellen — Ellen — Ellen  ! "  and  shook  his  head  feebly,  with  a 
woful  despairing  look  upwards,  but  without  shedding  a  tear. 
He  was  past  all  display  of  active  emotion! 

"  Shouldn't  you  call  me  a  suicide,  Dr ?  "  said  he  mourn- 
fully, on  seeing  me  sitting  beside  him. 


390  DIARY  OF  A  XATE  PHYSICIAN. 

"  Oh,  assuredly  not !  Dismiss  such  thoughts,  dear  captain 
I  beg!  We  are  all  in  the  hands  of  the  Almighty,  captain.  It  is 
He  who  orders  our  ends,"  said  I,  gently  grasping  his  hand,  which 
lay  passive  on  the  counterpane.  "  Well,  I  suppose  it  is  so.  His 
will  be  done  !  "  he  exclaimed,  looking  reverently  upwards,  and 
closing  his  eyes.  I  rose,  and  walked  to  the  table,  on  which  stood 
his  medicine,  to  see  how  much  of  it  he  had  taken.  There  lay  an 
unopened  letter  from  Miss !  It  had  arrived  by  that  morn- 
ing's post,  and  bore  the  post-mark  of  the  town  at  which  they 
were  making  their  halt  by  the  way.  Captain 's  friends  con- 
sidered it  better  not  to  agitate  him,  by  informing  him  of  its 

arrival ;  for  as  Miss could  not  be  apprized  of  his  illness,  it 

might  be  of  a  tenor  to  agitate  and  tantalize  him.     My  heart 
ached  to  see  it.     I  returned  presently  to  my  seat  beside  him. 

"  Doctor,"  he  whispered,  "  will  you  be  good  enough  to  look 
for  my  white  waistcoat — it  is  hanging  in  the  dressing-room, 
and  feel  in  the  pocket  for  a  little  paper-parcel?"  I  rose,  did  as 
he  directed,  and  brought  him  what  he  asked  for. 

"  Open  it,  and  you'll  see  poor  Ellen's  wedding-ring  and 
guard,  which  I  purchased  only  a  day  or  two  ago.  I  wish  to 
see  them,"  said  he,  in  a  low  but  firm  tone  of  voice.  I  removed 
the  wool,  and  gazed  at  the  glistening  trinkets  in  silence,  as  did 
Captain  C . 

"  They  will  do  to  wed  me  to  the  worm  !  "  said  he,  extending 
towards  me  the  little  finger  of  his  left  hand.  The  tears  nearly 
blinding  me,  I  did  as  he  wished,  but  could  not  get  them  past 
the  first  joint. 

"  Ah,  Ellen  has  a  small  finger !  "  said  he.  A  tear  fell  from 
my  eye  upon  his  hand.  He  looked  at  me  for  an  instant  with 
apparent  surprize.  "  Never  mind,  doctor — that  will  do — I  see 
they  won't  go  further.  Now,  let  me  die  with  them  on ;  and, 
when  I  am  no  more,  let  them  be  given  to  Ellen.  I  have  wedded 
her  in  my  heart — she  is  my  wife!"  He  continued  gazing  fix- 
edly at  the  finger  on  which  the  rings  were. 

"Of  course,  she  cannot  know  of  my  illness?"  he  enquired 
faintly,  looking  at  me.     I  shook  my  head. 

"  Good.  'Twill  break  her  little  heart,  Fm  afraid  ! "  Those 
were  the  last  words  I  ever  heard  him  utter ;  for,  finding  that  my 


RICH  AND  POOR. CHAPTER  XXI.  391 

feelings  were  growing  too  excited,  and  that  the  captain  seemed 
disposed  to  sleep,  I  rose  and  left  the  room,  followed  by  Lieute- 
nant   ,  who  bad  been  sitting  at  his  friend's  bedside  all  day- 
long, and  looked  dreadfully  pale  and  exhausted.  "  Doctor,"  said 
he,  in  a  broken  voice,  as  we  stood  together  in  the  hall,  "  I  have 
murdered  my  friend,  and  he  thinks  I  have.  He  won't  speak  to 
me,  nor  look  at  me  !  He  hasn't  opened  his  lips  to  me  once,  though 
I've  been  at  his  bedside  night  and  day.  Yes,"  he  continued, 
almost  choking,  "  I've  murdered  him ;  and  what  is  to  become  of 
ray  sister  f  "  I  made  him  no  reply,  for  my  heart  was  full. 

In  the  morning  I  found  Captain  C laid  out;  for  he  had 

died  about  midnight. 

Few  scenes  are  fraught  with  more  solemnity  and  awe,  none 
more  chilling  to  the  heart,  than  the  chamber  of  the  recent  dead. 
It  is  like  the  cold  porch  of  eternity  !  The  sepulchral  silence,  the 
dim  light,  the  fearful  order  and  repose  of  aU  around — a  sick- 
room, as  it  were,  suddenly  changed  into  a  charnel-house — the 
central  object  in  the  gloomy  picture,  the  bed — the  yellow  effigy 
of  him  that  was,  looking  coldly  out  from  the  white  unruffled 
sheets — the  lips  that  must  speak  no  more — the  eyes  that  are 
shut  for  ever ! 

The  features  of  Captain  C were  calm  and  composed ;  but 

was  it  not  woful  to  see  that  fine  countenance  surrounded  with 
the  close  crimped  cap,  injuring  its  outline  and  proportions  !— ^ 
Here,  reader,  lay  the  victim  of  a  slight  cold. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


KICH   AND   POOR. 


A  REMARKABLE  and  affecting  juxtaposition  of  the  two  poles, 
so  to  speak,  of  human  condition — affluence  and  poverty^ — rank 
and  degradation— came  under  my  notice  during  the  early  part 
of  the  year  181-.  The  dispensations  of  Providence  are  fear- 
ful levellers  of  the  factitious  distinctions  among  men !  Little 


392  DIART  OF  A  LATE  PHTS1CIA^. 

boots  it  to  our  oommon  foe,  whether  he  pluck  his  prey  from  the 
downy  satin-curtained  couch,  or  the  wretched  pallet  of  a  prison 
or  a  workhouse  !  The  oppressive  splendour  of  rank  and  riches, 
indeed  ! — what  has  it  of  solace  or  mitigation  to  him  hidden  "  to 
turn  his  pale  face  to  the  wall" — to  look  his  last  on  life,  its  toys 
and  tinselries  ? 

The  Earl  of 's*  old  tormentor,  the  gout,  had  laid  close 

siege  to  him  during  the  early  part  of  the  winter  of  181-,  and 
inflicted  on  him  agonies  of  unusual  intensity  and  duration.  It 
left  him  in  a  -very  low  and  poor  state  of  health — his  spirits 
utterly  broken — and  his  temper  soured  and  irritable,  to  an  extent 
that  was  intolerable  to  those  around  him.  The  discussion  of  a 
political  question,  in  the  issue  of  which  his  interests  were  deeply 
involved,  seduced  him  into  an  attendance  at  the  House  of  Lords, 
long  before  he  was  in  a  fit  state  for  removal,  even  from  his  bed- 
chamber; and  the  consequences  of  such  a  shattered  invalid's 
premature  exposure  to  a  bleak  winter's  wind  may  be  easily 
anticipated.  He  was  laid  again  on  a  bed  of  suffering ;  and 
having,  through  some  sudden  pique,  dismissed  his  old  family 
physician,  his  lordship  was  pleased  to  summon  me  to  supply  his 
place. 

The  Earl  of was  celebrated  for  his  enormous  riches  and 

the  more  than  Oriental  scale  of  luxury  and  magnificence  on 
which  his  establishment  was  conducted.  The  slanderous  world 
farther  gave  him  credit  for  a  disposition  of  the  most  exquisite 
selfishness,  which,  added  to  his  capricious  and  choleric  humour, 
made  him  a  very  unenviable  companion,  even  in  health.  What, 
then,  must  such  a  man  be  in  sickness  ?  I  trembled  at  the  task 
that  was  before  me  !  It  was  a  bitter  December  evening  on  which 
I  paid  him  my  first  visit.  Nearly  the  whole  of  the  gloomy, 
secluded  street  in  which  his  mansion  was  situated,  was  covered 
with  straw ;  and  men  were  stationed  about  it  to  prevent  noise 
in  any  shape.  The  ample  knocker  was  muffled  and  the  bell 
imhung,  lest  the  noise  of  either  should  startle  the  aristocratical 
invalid.     The  instant  my  carriage,  with  its  muffled  roll,  drew 

•  Le  i)KC  de \— French  Translator. 


EICH  AND  POOK. CHAPTER  XXT.  393 

up,  the  hall-door  sprang  open,  as  if  by  magic  ;  for  the  watchful 
porter  had  orders  to  anticipate  all  comers,  on  pain  of  instant 
dismissal.  Thick  matting  was  laid  over  the  hall  floor— double 
carpeting  covered  the  staircases  and  landings,  from  the  top  to 
the  bottom  of  the  house — and  all  the  door  edges  were  lined  with 
list.  How  could  sickness  or  death  presume  to  enter,  in  spite  of 
such  precautions ! 

A  servant,  in  large  list-slippers,  asked  me,  in  a  whisper,  my 
name ;  and,  on  learning  it,  said  the  countess  wished  to  have  a 
few  moments'  interview  with  me,  before  I  was  shown  up  to 
his  lordship.  I  was,  therefore,  led  into  a  magnificent  apartment, 
where  her  ladyship  with  two  grown-up  daughters,  and  a  young 
man  in  the  Guards'  uniform,  sat  sipping  coffee — for  they  had 
but  just  left  the  dining-room.     The  countess  looked  pale  and 

dispirited.    "  Doctor ,"  said  she,  after  a  few  words  of  course 

had  been  interchanged,  "  I'm  afraid  you'll  have  a  trying  task  to 
manage  his  lordship.  We  are  all  worn  out  with  attending  on 
him,  and  yet  he  says  we  neglect  him !  Nothing  can  please  or 
satisfy  him  ! — What  do  you  imagine  was  the  reason  of  his  dis- 
missing Dr ?  Because  he  persisted  in  attributing  the  pre- 
sent seizure  to  his  lordship's  imprudent  visit  to  the  House ! " 

"  Well,  your  ladyship  knows  I  can  but  attempt  to  do  my  duty," 
I  was  answering,  when,  at  that  instant,  the  door  was  opened, 
and  a  sleek  servant,  all  pampered  and  powdered,  in  a  sotto  voce 
tone  informed  the  countess  that  his  lordship  had  been  enquiring 
for  me.  "  Oh,  for  God's  sake,  go — go  immediately,"  said  her 
ladyship  eagerly,  "  or  we  shall  have  no  peace  for  a  week  to  come  ! 
— I  shall,  perhaps,  follow  you  in  a  few  minutes !     But  mind, 

please,  not  a  breath  about  Dr 's  leaving ! "     I  bowed,  and 

left  the  room.  I  followed  the  servant  up  the  noble  staircase — 
vases  and  statues,  with  graceful  lamps  at  every  landing — and 
was  presently  ushered  into  the  "  Bluebeard"  chamber.  Oh,  the 
sumptuous — the  splendid  air  of  every  thing  within  it !  Flowered, 
festooned  satin  window-draperies — flowered  satin  bed-curtains, 
gathered  together  at  the  top  by  a  golden  eagle — flowered  satin 
counterpane  !  Beautiful  Brussels  mufiled  the  tread  of  your  feet, 
and  delicately-carved  chairs  and  couches  solicited  to  repose  ! 
The  very  chamber-lamps,  glistening  in  soft  radiance  from  snowy 


394  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

marble  stands  in  the  further  corners  of  the  room,  were  tasteful 
and  elegant  in  the  extreme.  In  short,  grandeur  and  elegance 
seemed  to  outvie  one  another,  both  in  the  materials  and  disposition 
of  every  thing  around  me.  I  never  saw  any  thing  like  it  before, 
nor  have  I  since.  I  never  in  my  life  sat  in  such  a  yielding  luxu- 
rious chair  as  the  one  I  was  beckoned  to,  beside  the  Earl.  There 
was,  in  a  word,  every  thing  calculated  to  cheat  a  man  into  a 
belief,  that  he  belonged  to  a  "  higher  order"  than  that  of  "  poor 
humanity." 

But  for  the  lord — the  owner  of  all  this — my  patient.  Ay, 
there  he  lay,  embedded  in  down,  amid  snowy  linen  and  figured 
satin — all  that  was  visible  of  him  being  his  little,  sallow,  wrinkled 
visage,  worn  with  illness,  age,  and  fretfulness,  peering  curiously 
at  me  from  the  depths  of  his  pillow — and  his  left  hand,  lying 
outside  the  bed-clothes,  holding  a  white  embroidered  handker- 
chief, with  which  he  occasionally  wiped  his  clammy  features. 

"  U — u — gh  !  U — u — gh  ! "  he  groaned,  or  rather  gasped,  as 
a  sudden  twinge  of  pain  twisted  and  corrugated  his  features 
almost  out  of  all  resemblance  to  humanity — till  they  looked  more 
like  those  of  a  strangled  ape  than  the  Right  Honourable  the 

Earl  of The  paroxysm  presently  abated.     "  You've  been 

— do w  n  stairs — more  th  an — five  minutes — I  believe — Dr ?  " 

he  commenced,  in  a  petulant  tone,  pausing  for  breath  between 
every  two  words — his  features  not  yet  recovered  from  their  con- 
tortions.    I  bowed. 

"  I  flatter  myself — it  was  I — who  sent — for  you,  Dr ,  and 

■ — not  her  ladyship,"  he  continued.  I  bowed  again,  and  was 
going  to  explain,  when  he  resumed. 

"  Ah  !  I  see  !  Heard— the  whole  story  of  Dr 's  dismissal 

— ugh — ugh — eh  ! — May  I — beg  the  favour — of  hearing  her 
ladysldps  version — of  the  affair  ?  " 

"  My  lord,  I  heard  nothing  but  the  simple  fact  of  Dr 's 

having  ceased  to  attend  your  lordship" 

"  Ah  ! — ceased  to  attend  !     Good  ! "  he  repeated  with  a  sneer. 

"  Will  your  lordship  permit  me  to  ask  if  you  have  much  pain 
just  now  ? "  I  enquired,  anxious  to  terminate  his  splenetic  dis- 
play. I  soon  discovered  that  he  was  in  the  utmost  peril ;  for 
there  was  every  symptom  of  the  gout's  having  been  driven  from 


RICH  AND  BOOK. CHAPTER  XXI.  395 

its  old  quarter — the  extremities — to  the  vital  organs,  the  stomach 
and  bowels.  One  of  the  most  startling  symptoms  was  the  sen- 
sation he  described  as  resembling  that  of  a  platter  of  ice  laid 
upon  the  pit  of  his  stomacii ;  and  he  complained  also  of  increa- 
sing nausea.  Though  not  choosing  to  apprize  him  of  the  exact 
extent  of  his  danger,  I  strove  so  to  shape  my  questions  and  com- 
ments that  he  might  infer  his  being  in  dangerous  circumstances. 
He  either  did  not,  however,  or  would  not  comprehend  me.  I 
told  him  that  the  remedies  I  should  recommend 

"Ah,  by  the  way,"  said  he,  turning  abruptly  towards  me,  "it 

mustn't  be  the  execrable  stuff  that  Dr half  poisoned  me 

with !  'Gad,  sir,  it  had  a  most  diabolical  stench — garlic  was  a 
pine-apple  to  it ;  and  here  was  I  obliged  to  lie  soaked  in  eau  de 
Cologne,  and  half-stifled  with  musk.  He  did  it  on  purpose — he 
had  a  spite  against  me."  I  begged  to  be  shown  the  medicines  he 
complained  of,  and  his  valet  brought  me  the  half-emptied  vial. 
I  found  my  predecessor  had  been  exhibiting  assafcBtida  and  musk  ; 
and  could  no  longer  doubt  the  coincidence  of  his  view  of  the 
case  and  mine. 

"  I'm  afraid  my  lord,"  said  I,  hesitatingly,  "  that  I  shall  find 
myself  compelled  to  continue  the  use  of  the  medicines  which  Dr 
■  prescribed." 

"  I'll  be if  you  do,  though,  that's  all,"  replied  the  Earl, 

continuing  to  mutter  indistinctly  some  insulting  words  about 
my  "  small  acquaintance  with  the  pharmacopceia."  I  took  no 
notice  of  it. 

"  Would  your  lordship,"  said  I,  after  a  pause,  "  object  to  the 
use  of  camphor  or  ammonia  ?"  * 

"  I  object  to  the  use  of  every  medicine  but  one,  and  that  is  a 
taste  of  some  potted  boar's  flesh,  which  my  nephew,  I  understand, 
has  this  morning  sent  from  abroad." 

"  My  lord,  it  is  utterly  out  of  the  question.  Your  lordship,  it 
is  my  duty  to  inform  you,  is  in  extremely  dangerous  circum- 
stances " 

•  His  lordship,  with  whom — as  possibly  I  should  have  earlier  informed  the 
reader — I  had  some  little  personal  acquaintance  before  being  called  in  profes- 
sionally, had  a  tolerable  knowledge  of  medicine  ;  which  will  account  for  my 
mentioning  what  remedies  I  intended  to  exhibit.  In  fact,  he  insisted  on  know- 
ing. 


396  THE  DIARY  Or  A  iATE  PHYSICIAN. 

"  The  devil  I  am!"  he  exclaimed,  with  an  incredulous  smile. 

"  Poh,  poh  !     So  Dr said.     According  to  him,  I  ought  to 

have  resigned  about  a  week  ago  !  Egad — but— but — what 
symptom  of  danger  is  there  now  ?  "  he  enquired  abruptly. 

"  Why,  one — in  fact,  my  lord,  the  worst  is— the  sensation  of 
numbness  at  the  pit  of  the  stomach,  which  your  lordship  men- 
tioned just  now." 

"  Poh  ! — gone — gone — gone  !  A  mere  nervous  sensation,  I 
apprehend.  I  am  freer  from  pain  just  now  than  I  have  been  all 
along."  His  face  changed  a  little.  "  Doctor — rather  faint  with 
talking — can  I  have  a  cordial  ?  Pierre,  get  me  some  brandy !"  he 
added  in  a  feeble  voice.  The  valet  looked  at  me — I  nodded  acqui- 
escence, and  he  instantly  brought  the  earl  a  wine-glassful. 

"  Another — another — another,"  gasped  the  Earl,  his  face  sud- 
denly bedewed  with  a  cold  perspiration.  A  strange  expression 
flitted  for  an  instant  over  the  features ;  his  eyelids  drooped ;  there 
was  a  little  twitching  about  the  mouth 

"  Pierre  !  Pierre  !  Pierre  !  call  the  countess  ! "  said  I  hur- 
riedly, loosening  the  earl's  shirt-neck,  for  I  saw  he  was  dying. 
Before  the  valet  returned,  however,  while  the  muffled  tramp  of 
footsteps  was  heard  on  the  stairs,  approaching  nearer — nearer 

— nearer — it  was  all  over  !    The  haughty  Earl  of had  gone 

where  rank  and  riches  availed  him  nothing — to  be  alone  with 

God! 

******* 

On  arriving  home  that  evening,  my  mind  saddened  with  the 
scene  I  had  left,  I  found  my  wife,  Emily,  sitting  by  the  drawing- 
room  fire,  alone,  and  in  tears.  On  enquiring  the  reason  of  it, 
she  told  me  that  a  charwoman,  who  had  been  that  day  engaged  at 
our  house,  had  been  telling  Jane,  my  wife's  maid,  who,  of  course, 
communicated  it  to  her  mistress,  one  of  the  most  heart-rending 
tales  of  distress  that  she  had  ever  listened  to — that  poverty  and 
disease  united  could  inflict  on  humanity.  My  sweet  wife's  voice, 
ever  eloquent  in  the  cause  of  benevolence,  did  not  require  much 
exertion  to  persuade  me  to  resume  my  walking  trim,  and  go  that 
very  evening  to  the  scene  of  wretchedness  she  described.  The 
charwoman  had  gone  half  an  hour  ago,  but  left  the  name  and 
address  of  the  family  she  spoke  of,  and,  after  learning  them,  I 


RICH  AND  POOR. CHAPTER  XXI.  397 

set  oflF.  The  cold  was  so  fearfully  intense,  that  I  was  obliged  to 
return  and  get  a  "  comfortable"  *  for  my  neck ;  and  Emily  took 
the  opportunity  to  empty  all  the  loose  silver  in  her  purse  into 
my  hand,  saying,  "  You  know  what  to  do  with  it,  love  ! "  Bless- 
ing her  benevolent  heart,  I  once  more  set  out  on  my  errand  of 
mercy.  With  some  difficulty,  I  found  out  the  neighbourhood, 
threading  my  doubtful  way  through  a  labyrinth  of  obscure  back- 
streets,  lanes,  and  alleys,  till  I  came  to  "  Peter's  Place,"  where 
the  objects  of  my  visit  resided.  I  began  to  be  apprehensive  for 
the  safety  of  my  person  and  property,  when  I  discovered  the  sort 
of  neighbourhood  I  had  got  into. 

"  Do  you  know  where  some  people  of  the  name  of  O'Hurdle 
Uve  ?  "  I  enquired  of  the  watchman,  who  was  passing  bawling 
the  hour,  f 

"Yis,  I  knows  two  of  that  'ere  name  hereabouts — which 
Hurdle  is  it,  sir  ?  "  enquired  the  gruff  guardian  of  the  night 

"  I  really  don't  exactly  know — the  people  I  want  are  very, 
very  poor. " 

"  Oh !  oh  !  oh  !  I'm  thinking  they're  all  much  of  a  muchness 
for  the  matter  of  that,  about  here, "  he  replied,  setting  down  his 
lantern,  and  slapping  his  hands  against  his  sides  to  keep  him- 
self warm. 
"  But  the  people  I  want  are  very  ill—Vm  a  doctor." 
"  Oh,  oh  !  you  must  be  meaning  'em  'oose  son  was  transported 
yesterday  '  His  name  was  Tim  O'Hurdle,  sir — though  some 
called  him  Jimmy — and  I  was  the  man  that  catch'd  him,  sir — 

I  did  !     It  was  for  a  robbery  in  this  here" 

"  Ay,  ay — I  dare  say  they  are  the  people  I  want.  Where  is 
their  house  ? "  I  enquired  hastily,  somewhat  disturbed  at  the 
latter  portion  of  his  intelligence — a  new  and  forbidding  feature 
of  the  case. 

"  I'll  show'ee  the  way,  sir,"  said  the  watchman,  walking  before 
me,  and  holding  his  lantern  close  to  the  ground  to  light  my 
path.     He  led  me  to  the  last  house  of  the  place,  and  through  a 

•  "  Cette  seoonde  cravate  d'hiver  se  nomme,  en  Angleterre,  un  contfbrtable." — 
French  Translator. 

t "  Criant,  ou  plutot  hurlant :  Minuit  et  denv—il fait  froid—nutt  obscure,"  &r. 
-Ibia. 


398  DIARY  or  A  LATE  PHlfSICIAN. 

miserable  dilapidated  doorway;  then  up  two  pair  of  narrow, 
dirty,  broken  stairs,  till  we  found  ourselves  at  the  tnp  of  the 
house.  He  knocked  at  the  door  with  the  end  of  his  stick,  and 
called  out,  "  Holloa,  missus  !  Hey !  Within  there  !  You're 
wanted  here  ! "  adding  suddenly,  in  a  lower  tone,  touching  his 
hat,  "  It's  a  bitter  night,  sir — a  trifle,  sir,  to  keep  one's-self  warm 
— drink  your  health,  sir."  I  gave  him  a  trifle,  motioned  him 
away,  and  took  his  place  at  the  door. 

"  Thank  your  honour ! — mind  your  watch  and  pockets,  sir, 
that's  all,"  he  muttered,  and  left  me.  I  felt  very  nervous  as  the 
sound  of  his  retreating  footsteps  died  away  down  stairs.  I  had 
half  a  mind  to  follow  him. 

"  Who's  there  ? "  enquired  a  female  voice  through  the  door, 
opened  only  an  inch  or  two. 

"  It's  I — a  doctor.  Is  your  name  O'Hurdle  ?  Is  any  one  iU 
here  ?  I'm  come  to  see  you.  Betsy  Jones,  a  charwoman,  told 
me  of  you." 

"You're  right,  sir,"  replied  the  same  voice,  sorrowfully. 
"Walk  in,  sir;"  and  the  door  was  opened  enough  for  me  to 
enter. 

Now,  reader,  who,  while  glancing  over  these  sketches,  are 
perhaps  reposing  in  the  lap  of  luxury,  believe  me  when  I  tell 
you,  that  the  scene  which  I  shall  attempt  to  set  before  you,  as  I 
encountered  it,  I  feel  to  beggar  all  my  powers  of  description ; 
and  that  what  you  may  conceive  to  be  exaggerations,  are  infi- 
nitely short  of  the  frightful  realities  of  that  evening.  Had  I 
not  seen  and  known  for  myself,  I  should  scarcely  have  beheved 
that  such  misery  existed. 

"Wait  a  moment,  sir,  an'  I'll  fetch  you  a  light,"  said  the 
woman,  in  a  strong  Irish  accent ;  and  I  stood  still  outside  the 
door  till  she  returned  with  a  rushlight,  stuck  in  a  blue  bottle. 
I  had  time  for  no  more  than  one  glimpse  at  the  haggard  features 
and  filthy  ragged  appearance  of  the  bearer,  with  an  infant  at  the 
breast,  before  a  gust  of  wind,  blowing  through  an  unstopped 
broken  pane  in  the  window,  suddenly  extinguished  the  candle, 
and  we  were  left  in  a  sort  of  darkness  visible,  the  only  object  I 
could  see  being  the  faint  glow  of  expiring  embers  on  the  hearth. 
'■  Would  your  honour  be  after  standing  still  a  while,  or  you'll  be 


RICH  AND  POOR. CHAPTER  XXI.  399 

thredding  on  the  chilther  ?"  said  the  woman;  and,  bending 
down,  she  endeavoured  to  re-light  the  candle  by  the  embers. 
The  poor  creature  tried  in  vain,  however;  for  it  seemed  there 
was  but  an  inch  or  two  of  candle  left,  and  the  heat  of  the  embers 
melted  it  away,  and  the  wick  fell  out. 

"Oh,  murther — there!  What  will  we  do?"  exclaimed  the 
woman;  "that's  the  last  bit  of  candle  we've  in  the  house,  an' 
it's  not  a  farthing  I  have  to  buy  another !  " 

"  Come — send  and  buy  another,"  said  I,  giving  her  a  shilling, 
though  I  was  obliged  ia  feel  for  her  hand. 

"  Oh,  thank  your  honour ! "  said  she,  "  an'  we'll  soon  be  see- 
ing one  another.     Here,  Sal!  Sal!  Sally — Here,  ye  cratur!" 

"  Well,  and  what  d'ye  want  with  me  f  "  asked  a  sullen  voice 
from  another  part  of  the  room,  while  there  was  a  rustling  of  straw. 

"  Fait,  an'  ye  must  get  up  wid  ye,  and  go  to  buy  a  candle. 
Here's  a  shilling" 

"  Heigh — and  isn't  it  a  loaf  o'  bread  ye  should  rather  be  after 
buying,  mother  ?  "  growled  the  same  voice. 

"  Perhaps  the  doctor  won't  mind,"  stammered  the  mother ; 
"he  won't  mind  our  getting  a  loaf  too." 

"  Oh,  no,  no !  For  God's  sake  go  directly,  and  get  what  you 
like!"  said  I,  touched  by  the  woman's  tone  and  manner. 

"  Ho,  Sal !  Get  up — ye  may  buy  some  bread  too" 

"Bread!  bread!  bread!  —  Where's  the  shilling?"  said  the 
same  voice,  in  quick  and  eager  tones  ;  and  the  ember-light 
enabled  me  barely  to  distinguish  the  dim  outline  of  a  figure 
rising  from  the  straw  on  which  it  had  been  stretched,  and  which 
nearly  overturned  me  by  stumbling  against  me,  on  its  way 
towards  where  the  mother  stood.  It  was  a  grown-up  girl,  who, 
after  receiving  the  shilling,  promised  to  bring  the  candle  lighted, 
lest  her  own  fire  should  not  be  sufficient,  and  withdrew,  slam- 
ming the  door  violently  after  her,  and  rattling  down  stairs  with 
a  rapidity  which  showed  the  interest  she  felt  in  her  errand. 

"  I'm  sorry  it's  not  a  seat  we  have  that's  fit  for  you,  sir,"  said 
the  woman,  approaching  towards  where  I  was  standing ;  "  but 
if  I  may  make  so  bold  as  to  take  your  honour's  hand,  I'll  guide 
you  to  the  only  one  we  have — barring  the  floor — a  box  by  the 
fire,  and  there  ye'll  sit  perhaps  till  she  comes  with  the  light." 


400  DIAKT  or  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

"  Any  where — any  where,  my  good  woman,"  said  I ;  "  but  I 
hope  your  daughter  will  return  soon,  for  I  have  not  long  to  be 
here ; "  and,  giving  her  my  gloved  hand,  she  led  me  to  a  deal 
box,  on  which  I  sat  down,  and  she  on  the  floor  beside  me.  I  was 
beginning  to  ask  her  some  questions,  when  the  moaning  of  a 
little  child  interrupted  me. 

"  Hush  !  hush  !  ye  little  divel — hush  ! — ye'll  be  waking  your 
poor  daddy ! — hush ! — go  to  sleep  wid  ye  !"  said  the  woman,  in 
an  earnest  under  tone. 

"  Oeh — och — mammy! — mammy!  an'  isn't  it  so  cowld? — I 
cajCt  sleep,  mammy,"  replied  the  tremulous  voice  of  a  very  young 
child ;  and,  directing  my  eyes  to  the  quarter  from  which  the 
sound  came,  I  fancied  I  saw  a  poor  shivering  half-naked  crea- 
ture, cowering  under  the  window. 

"  Hish — lie  still  wid  ye,  ye  unfortunat'  little  divel — an'  ye'll 
presently  get  something  to  eat.  We  ha'n't  none  of  us  tasted  a 
morsel  sin'  the  morning,  doctor ! "  The  child  she  spoke  to 
ceased  its  meanings  instantly ;  but  I  heard  the  sound  of  its  little 
teeth  chattering,  and  of  its  hands  rubbing  and  striking  together. 
Well  it  might,  poor  wretch — for  I  protest  the  room  was  nearly 
as  cold  as  the  open  air — for,  besides  the  want  of  fire,  the  bleak 
wind  blew,  in  chilling  gusts,  through  the  broken  panes  of  the 
window. 

"  Why,  how  many  of  you  are  there  in  this  place,  my  good 
woman  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Och,  murther !  murther !  murther !  and  isn't  there — barring 
Sal,  that's  gone  for  the  candle,  and  Bobby,  that's  out  begging, 
and  Tim,  that  the  old  divels  at  Newgate  have  sent  away  to 
Bottomless  *  yesterday,"  she  continued,  bursting  into  tears ; — 
"  Och,  an'  won't  that  same  be  the  death  o'  me,  and  the  poor  father 
o'  the  boy — an  it  wasn't  sich  a  sentence  he  deserved — but,  hush! 
hush ! "  she  continued,  lowering  her  tones  "  an'  it's  waking  the 
father  o'  him,  I'll  be,  that  doesn't" 

"  I  understand  your  husband  is  ill,"  said  I. 

"  Fait,  sir,  as  ill  as  the  'smatticksf  (asthmatics)  can  make 
him — the  Lord  pity  him !  But  he's  had  a  blessed  hour's  sleep, 
the  poor  fellow !  though  the  little  brat  he  has  in  his  arms  has 

•  Botany  Bay.  i  Atmlsique.-  Fr.  Tr 


RICH  AND  POOR. — CHAPTBll  XXI.  401 

been  making  a  noise,  a  little  divel  that  it  is— it's  the  youngest 
barring  this  one  I'm  suckling — an'  it's  not  a  fortnight  it  is  sin' 
it  first  looked  on  its  mother  ! "  she  continued,  sobbing,  and  kiss- 
ing her  baby's  hand.  "  Och,  och !  that  the  little  cratur  had 
never  been  born  ! " 

I  heard  footsteps  slowly  approaching  the  room,  and  presently 
a  few  rays  of  light  flickered  through  the  chinks  and  fissures  of 
the  door,  which  was  in  a  moment  or  two  pushed  open,  and  Sal 
made  her  appearance,  shading  the  lighted  candle  in  her  hand, 
and  holdino-  a  quartern  loaf  under  her  arm.  She  had  brought 
but  a  wretched  rushlight,  which  she  hastily  stuck  into  the  neck 
of  the  bottle,  and  placed  it  on  a  shelf  over  the  fireplace ;  and 
then — what  a  scene  was  visible  ! 

The  room  was  a  garret,  and  the  sloping  ceiling — if  such  it 
might  be  called — made  it  next  to  impossible  to  move  any  where 
in  an  upright  position.  The  mockery  of  a  window  had  not  one 
entire  pane  of  glass  in  it ;  but  some  of  the  holes  were  stopped 
with  straw,  rags,  and  brown  paper,  while  one  or  two  were  not 
stopped  at  all !  There  was  not  an  article  of  furniture  in  the 
place — no,  not  a  bed,  chair,  or  table  of  any  kind;  the  last 
remains  of  it  had  been  seized  for  arrears  of  rent — eighteenpence 
a-week — by  the  horrid  harpy,  their  landlady,  who  lived  on  the 
ground-floor !  The  floor  was  littered  with  dirty  straw,  such  as 
swine  might  scorn — but  which  formed  the  only  couch  of  this 
devoted  family  !  The  rushlight  eclipsed  the  dying  glow  of  the 
few  embers,  so  that  there  was  not  even  the  appearance  of  a  fire  ! 
And  this  in  a  garret  facing  the  north,  on  one  of  the  bitterest  and 
bleakest  nights  I  ever  knew  !  My  heart  sank  within  me  at  wit- 
nessing such  frightful  misery  and  destitution,  and  contrasting 
it,  for  an  instant,  with  the  aristocratical  splendour,  the  exquisite 
luxuries,  of  my  last  patient ! — Lazarus  and  Dives  ! 

The  woman,  with  whom  I  had  been  conversing,  was  a  mere 
bundle  of  filthy  rags — a  squalid,  shivering,  starved  creature, 
holding  to  her  breast  a  half-naked  infant — her  matted  hair 
hanging  long  and  looselj'  down  her  back,  and  over  her  shoulders ; 
her  daughter  Sal  was  in  like  plight — a  sullen,  ill-favoured  slut, 
of  about  eighteen,  who  seemed  ashamed  of  being  seen,  and  hung 
her  head  like  a  guilty  one.     She  had  resumed  her  former  sta- 

1  2c 


402  DIARY  OF  A  LATE   PHYSICIAN. 

tion  on  some  straw— her  bed! — in  the  extreme  corner  of  the 
room,  where  she  was  squatting,  with  a  little  creature  cowering 
close  beside  her,  both  munching  ravenously  the  bread  which  had 
been  purchased.  The  miserable  father  of  the  family  was  seated 
on  the  floor,  with  his  back  propped  against  the  opposite  side  of 
the  fireplace  to  that  which  I  occupied,  and  held  a  child  clasped 
loosely  in  his  arms,  though  he  had  plainly  fallen  asleep.  Oh, 
what  a  wretched  object ! — a  foul,  shapeless,  brown-paper  cap  on 
his  head,  and  a  ragged  fustian  jacket  on  his  back,  which  a 
beggar  might  have  spurned  with  loathing ! 

The  sum  of  what  the  woman  communicated  to  me  was,  that 
her  husband,  a  bricklayer  by  trade,  had  been  long  unable  to 
work  on  account  of  his  asthma ;  and  that  their  only  means  of 
subsistence  were  a  paltry  pittance  from  the  parish,  her  own 
scanty  earnings  as  a  washerwoman,  which  had  been  interrupted 
by  her  recent  confinement,  and  charities  collected  by  Sal  and 
Bobby,  who  was  then  out  begging.  Their  oldest  son,  Tim,  a 
lad  of  sixteen,  had  been  transported  for  seven  years,  the  day 
before,  for  a  robbery,  of  which  his  mother  vehemently  declared 
him  innocent ;  and  this  last  circumstance  had,  more  than  all 
the  rest,  completely  broken  the  hearts  of  both  his  father  and 
mother,  who  had  absolutely  starved  themselves  and  their  chil- 
dren, in  order  to  hoard  up  enough  to  fee  an  Old  Bailey  counsel 
to  plead  for  their  son  !  The  husband  had  been  for  some  time, 
I  found,  an  out-patient  of  one  of  the  infirmaries ;  "  and  this 
poor  little  darlint"  said  she,  sobbing  bitterly,  and  hugging  her 
infant  closer  to  her,  "  has  got  the  measles,  I'm  fearin' ;  and  little 
Bobby,  too,  is  catching  them. — Och,  murther,  murther!  Oh, 
Christ,  pity  us,  poor  sinners  that  we  are  !  Oh  !  what  will  we 
do  ? — what  will  we  do  ?  " — and  she  almost  choked  herself  with 
stifling  her  sobs,  for  fear  of  waking  her  husband. 

"  And  what  is  the  matter  with  the  child  that  your  husband  is 
holding  in  his  arms  ?"  I  enquired,  pointing  to  it,  as  it  sat  in  its 
father's  arms,  munching  a  little  crust  of  bread,  and  ever  and 
anon  patting  its  father's  face,  exclaiming,  "Da-a-a! — Ab-bab- 
ba ! — Ab-bab-ba ! " 

"  Och !  what  ails  the  cratur  ?  Nothing,  but  that  it's  half- 
starved  and  naked — an'  isn't  that  enough — an'  isn't  it  kilt  I  wish 


RICH  AND  POOR. CHAPTER  XXI.  403 

we  all  were — every  mother's  son  of  us  !  "  groaned  the  miserable 
woman,  sobbing  as  if  her  heart  would  break.  At  that  moment 
a  lamentable  noise  was  heard  on  the  stairs,  as  of  a  lad  crying, 
accompanied  by  the  pattering  of  naked  feet.  "  Och  !  murther ! " 
exclaimed  the  woman,  with  an  agitated  air — "What's  ailing 
with  Bobby  ?  Is  it  crying  he  is  ? "  and,  starting  to  the  door, 
she  threw  it  open  time  enough  to  admit  a  ragged  shivering 
urchin,  about  ten  years  old,  without  shoes  or  stockings,  and 
having  no  cap,  and  rags  pinned  about  him,  which  he  was 
obliged  to  hold  up  with  his  right  hand,  while  the  other  covered 
his  left  cheek.  The  little  wretch,  after  a  moment's  pause, 
occasioned  by  seeing  a  strange  gentleman  in  the  room,  pro- 
ceeded to  put  three  or  four  coppers  into  his  mother's  lap,  telling 
her  with  painful  gestures,  that  a  gentleman,  whom  he  had  fol- 
lowed a  few  steps  in  the  street,  importuning  for  charity,  had 
turned  round  unexpectedly,  and  struck  him  a  severe  blow  with 
a  cane,  over  his  face  and  shoulders. 

"Let  me  look  at  your  face,  my  poor  little  fellow,"  said  I, 
drawing  him  to  me ;  and,  on  removing  his  hand,  I  saw  a  long 
weal  all  down  the  left  cheek.  I  wish  I  could  forget  the  look  of 
tearless  agony  with  which  his  mother  put  her  arms  round  his 
neck,  and,  drawing  him  to  her  breast,  exclaimed  faintly — '  Bobby ! 
— my  Bobby  ! '  After  a  few  moments,  she  released  the  boy,  point- 
ing to  the  spot  where  his  sisters  sat,  still  munching  their  bread. 

The  instant  he  saw  what  they  were  doing,  he  sprang  towards 
them,  and  plucked  a  large  fragment  from  the  loaf,  fastening  on 
it  like  a  young  wolf! 

"  Why,  they'll  finish  the  loaf  before  you've  tasted  it,  my  good 
woman,"  said  1. 

"  Och,  the  poor  things  ! — Let  them — let  them  !  "  she  replied, 
wiping  away  a  tear.  "  I  can  do  without  it  longer  than  they — 
the  craturs  ! " 

"  Well,  my  poor  woman,"  said  I,  "  I  have  not  much  time  to 
spare,  as  it  is  growing  late.  I  came  here  to  see  what  I  could  do 
for  you  as  a  doctor.     How  many  of  you  are  ill  ?  " 

"  Fait,  an'  isn't  it  ailing  we  all  of  us  are  !  Ah,  your  honour ! 
— A  'firmary,  without  physic  or  victuals  !  " 

"  Well,  we  must  see  what  can  be  done  for  you.     What  is  the 


404  DIAKY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

matter  with  your  husband  there,"  said  I,  turning  towards  him. 
He  was  still  asleep,  in  spite  of  the  tickling  and  stroking  of  his 
child's  hands,  who,  at  the  moment  I  looked,  was  trying  to  push 
the  corner  of  its  crust  into  its  father's  mouth,  chuckling  and 
crowing  the  while,  as  is  the  wont  of  children  who  find  a  passive 
subject  for  their  drolleries. 

"  Och !  och  !  the  little  villain ! — the  thing ! "  said  she  im- 
patiently, seeing  the  child's  employment ;  "  Isn't  it  waking  him 
it'll  be  ?— St— St ! " 

"  Let  me  see  him  nearer,"  said  I :  "  I  must  wake  him,  and  ask 
him  a  few  questions." 

I  moved  from  my  seat  towards  him.  His  head  hung  down 
drowsily.  His  wife  took  down  the  candle  from  the  shelf,  and 
held  it  a  little  above  her  husband's  head,  while  I  came  in  front 
of  him,  and  stooped  on  one  knee  to  interrogate  him. 

"  Phelim  ! — love  ! — honey  ! — darlint ! — Wake  wid  ye !  And 
isn't  it  the  doctor  that  comes  to  see  ye  ?  "  said  she,  nudging  him 
with  her  knee.  He  did  not  stir,  however.  The  child,  regard- 
less of  us,  was  still  playing  with  his  passive  features.  A  glimpse 
of  the  awful  truth  flashed  across  my  mind. 

"  Let  me  have  the  candle  a  moment,  my  good  woman,"  said  I, 
rather  seriously. 
The  man  was  dead ! 

He  must  have  expired  nearly  an  hour  before,  for  his  face  and 
hands  were  quite  cold ;  but  the  position  in  which  he  sat,  together 
with  the  scantiness  of  the  light,  concealed  the  event.  It  was 
fearful  to  see  the  ghastly  pallor  of  the  features,  the  fixed  pupils, 
the  glassy  glare  downvcards,  the  fallen  jaw  ! — Was  it  not  a  sub- 
ject for  a  painter? — the  living  child  in  the  arms  of  its  dead 
father,  unconsciously  sporting  with  a  corpse ! 

******* 
To  attempt  a  description  of  what  ensued,  would  be  idle,  and 
even  ridiculous.  It  is  hardly  possible  even  to  imagine  it !  In 
one  word,  the  neighbours  who  lived  on  the  floor  beneath  were 
called  in,  and  did  their  utmost  to  console  the  wretched  widow 
and  quiet  the  children.  They  laid  out  the  corpse  decently ;  and 
I  left  them  all  the  silver  I  had  about  me,  to  enable  them  to  pur- 
chase a  few  of  the  more  pressing  necessaries.    I  succeeded  after- 


THE  RUINED  MERCHANT. CHAPTER  XXII.  405 

wards  in  gaining  two  of  the  children  admittance  into  a  charity 
school ;  and  through  my  wife's  interference,  the  poor  widow 
received  the  efficient  assistance  of  an  unobtrusive,  but  most  in- 
comparable institution,  "  The  Strangers'  Friend  Society."  I 
was  more  than  once  present  when  those  angels  of  mercy — those 
"true  Samaritans" — the  "Visiters"  of  the  Society,  as  they  are 
called — were  engaged  on  their  noble  errand,  and  wished  that 
their  numbers  were  countless,  and  their  means  inexhaustible ! 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE  BCINED  JIEKCHANT. 

It  is  a  common  sajdng,  that  sorrows  never  come  alone — that 
"  it  never  rains,  but  it  pours ;"  *  and  it  has  been  verified  by  expe- 
rience, even  from  the  days  of  that  prince  of  the  wretched — the 
man  "  whose  name  "was  Job."  Nowadays,  directly  a  sudden 
accumulation  of  ills  befalls  a  man,  he  utters  some  rash  exclama- 
tion, like  the  one  in  question,  and  too  often  submits  to  the  inflic- 
tions of  Providence  with  sullen  indifierence — like  a  brute  to  a 
blow — or  resorts,  possibly,  to  suicide.  Your  poor,  stupid,  unob- 
serving  man,  in  such  a  case,  cannot  conceive  how  it  comes  to 
pass  that  all  the  evils  under  the  sun  are  showered  down  upon 
his  head — at  once !  There  is  no  attempt  to  account  for  it  on 
reasonable  grounds — no  reference  to  probable,  nay,  obvious 
causes — his  own  misconduct,  possibly,  or  imprudence.  In  a 
word,  he  fancies  that  the  only  thing  they  resemble  is  Epicurus' 
fortuitous  concourse  of  atoms.  It  is  undoubtedly  true,  that 
people  are  occasionally  assailed  by  misfortunes  so  numerous, 
sudden,  and  simultaneous,  as  is  really  unaccountable.  In  the 
majority,  however,  of  what  are  reputed  such  cases,  a  ready  solu- 
tion may  be  found,  by  any  one  of  observation.     Take  a  simple 

• And  now  tehoM,  O  Gertrude,  Gertrude— 

When  sorrows  come,  they  come  not  single  spies, 
But  in  tattalions.— Shakspeare. 


40G  DIA.RT  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

illustration : — A  passenger  suddenly  falls  down  in  a  crowded 
thoroughfare ;  and  when  down,  and  unable  to  rise,  the  one  fol- 
lowing stumbles  over  him — the  next  over  him — and  so  on — all 
unable  to  resist  the  on-pressing  crowd  behind ;  and  so  the  first 
fallen  lies  nearly  crushed  and  smothered.  Now,  is  not  this 
frequently  the  case  with  a  man  amid  the  cares  and  troubles  of 
life  ?  One  solitary  disaster — one  unexpected  calamity — befalls 
him ;  the  sudden  shock  stuns  him  out  of  his  self-possession ;  he 
is  dispirited,  confounded,  paralyzed — and  down  he  falls,  in  the 
very  throng  of  all  the  pressing  cares  and  troubles  of  life,  one 
implicating  and  dragging  after  it  another — till  all  is  uproar  and 
consternation.  Then  it  is  that  we  hear  passionate  lamentations 
and  cries  of  sorrows  "  never  coming  alone  " — of  all  this  "  being 
against  him  ;"  and  he  either  stupidly  lies  still,  till  he  is  crushed 
and  trampled  on,  or,  it  may  be,  succeeds  in  scrambling  to  the  first 
temporary  resting-place  he  can  espy,  where  he  resigns  himself  to 
stupefied  inaction,  staring  vacantly  at  the  throng  of  mishaps  fol- 
lowing in  the  wake  of  that  onewhichborehim  down.  Whereas,  the 
first  thought  of  one  in  such  a  situation  should  surely  be,  "  Let 
me  be  '  up  and  doing,'  and  I  may  yet  recover  myself."  "  Directly 
a  man  determines  to  think"  says  an  eminent  writer,  "  he  is  well- 
nigh  sure  of  bettering  his  condition." 

It  is  to  the  operation  of  such  causes  as  these,  that  is  to  be 
traced,  in  a  great  majority  of  cases,  the  necessity  for  medical 
interference.  Within  the  sphere  of  my  own  practice  I  have 
witnessed,  in  such  circumstances,  the  display  of  heroism  and 
fortitude  ennobling  to  human  nature ;  and  I  have  also  seen 
instances  of  the  most  contemptible  pusillanimity.  I  have  marked 
a  brave  spirit  succeed  in  buffeting  its  way  out  of  its  adversities ; 
and  I  have  seen  as  brave  a  one  overcome  by  them,  and  falling 
vanquished,  even  with  the  sword  of  resolution  gleaming  in  its 
grasp ;  for  there  are  combinations  of  evil,  against  which  no 
human  energies  can  make  a  stand.  Of  this,  I  think  the  ensuing 
melancholy  narrative  will  afford  an  illustration.  What  its  effect 
on  the  mind  of  the  reader  may  be,  I  cannot  presume  to  speculate. 
Mine  it  has  oppressed  to  recall  the  painful  scenes  with  which 
it  abounds,  and  convinced  of  the  peculiar  perils  incident  to 
rapidly  acquired  fortune,  which  too  often  lifts  its  possessor  into 


THE  RUINED  MERCHANT. CHAPTER  XXII.  407 

an  element  for  which  he  is  totally  unfitted,  and  from  which  he 
falls  exhausted,  lower  far  than  the  sphere  he  had  left ! 

Mr  Dudleigh's  career  aflforded  a  striking  illustration  of  the 
splendid  but  fluctuating  fortunes  of  a  great  English  merchant — 
of  the  magnificent  results  ensured  by  persevering  industry,  eco- 
nomy, prudence,  and  enterprize.  Early  in  life  he  was  cast  upon 
the  world,  to  do  as  he  would,  or  rather  could,  with  himself ;  for 
his  guardian  proved  a  swindler,  and  robbed  his  deceased  friend's 
child  of  every  penny  that  was  left  him.  On  hearing  of  the  dis- 
astrous event,  young  Dudleigh  instantly  ran  away  from  school, 
in  his  sixteenth  year,  and  entered  himself  on  board  a  vessel 
trading  to  the  West  Indies,  as  cabin-boy.  As  soon  as  his  rela- 
tives, few  in  number,  distant  in  degree,  and  colder  in  affection, 
heard  of  this  step,  they  told  him,  after  a  little  languid  expostu- 
lation, that  as  he  had  made  his  bed,  so  he  must  lie  upon  it ;  and 
never  came  near  him  again,  till  he  had  become  ten  times  richer 
than  all  of  them  put  together. 

The  first  three  or  four  years  of  young  Dudleigh's  noviciate  at 
sea,  were  years  of  fearful,  but  not  unusual  hardship.  I  have 
heard  him  state  that  he  was  frequently  flogged  by  the  captain 
and  mate,  till  the  blood  ran  down  his  back  like  water ;  and 
kicked  and  cuffed  about  by  the  common  sailors  with  infamous 
impunity.  One  cause  of  all  this  was  obvious  :  his  evident  supe- 
riority over  every  one  on  board  in  learning  and  acquirements. 
To  such  an  extent  did  his  tormentors  carry  their  tyranny,  that 
poor  Dudleigh's  life  became  intolerable ;  and  one  evening,  on 
leaving  tlie  vessel  after  its  arrival  in  port  from  the  West  Indies, 
he  ran  to  a  public-house  in  Wapping,  called  for  pen  and  ink, 
and  wrote  a  letter  to  the  chief  owner  of  the  vessel,  acquainting 
him  of  the  cruel  usage  he  had  suffered,  and  imploring  his  inter- 
ference ;  adding  that,  if  that  application  failed,  he  was  deter- 
mined to  drown  liimself  when  they  next  went  to  sea.  This  letter, 
which  was  signed  "  Henry  Dudleigh,  cabin-hoy"  astonished  and 
interested  the  person  to  whom  it  was  addressed :  for  it  was 
accurately,  and  even  eloquently  worded.  Young  Dudleigh  was 
sent  for,  and,  after  a  thorough  examination  into  the  nature  of 
his  pretensions,  engaged  as  a  clerk  in  the  counting-house  of  the 
shipowners,  at  a  small  salary.     He  conducted  himself  with  so 


408 


THE  EUINED  MERCHANT. CHAPTER  XXII. 


much  ability  and  integrity,  and  displayed  such  a  zealous  interest 
in  his  employers'  concerns,  that  in  a  few  years'  time  he  was 
raised  to  the  head  of  their  large  establishment,  and  received  a 
salary  of  £500  a-year,  as  their  senior  and  confidential  clerk. 
The  experience  he  gained  in  this  situation,  enabled  him,  on  the 
unexpected  bankruptcy  of  his  employers,  to  dispose  most  suc- 
cessfully of  the  greater  portion  of  what  he  had  saved  in  their 
service.  He  purchased  shares  in  two  vessels,  which  made  for- 
tuuate  voyages ;  and  the  result  determined  him  henceforth  to 
conduct  business  on  his  own  account,  notwithstanding  the  offer 
of  a  most  lucrative  situation  similar  to  his  last.  In  a  word,  he 
went  on  conducting  his  speculations  with  as  much  prudence,  as 
he  undertook  them  with  energy  and  enterprize. 

The  period  I  am  alluding  to  may  be  considered  as  the  golden 
age  of  the  shipping  interest ;  and  it  will  occasion  surprize  to  no 
one  acquainted  with  the  commercial  history  of  those  days,  to 
hear  that,  in  little  more  than  five  years'  time,  Mr  Dudleigh  could 
"  write  himself"  worth  £20,000.  He  practised  a  parsimony  of 
the  most  excruciating  kind.  Though  every  one  on  'Change 
was  familiar  with  his  name,  and  cited  him  as  one  of  the  most 
"  rising  young  men  there,"  he  never  associated  with  any  of  them 
but  on  occasions  of  strict  business.  He  was  content  with  the 
humblest  fare ;  and  trudged  cheerfully  to  and  from  the  city  to 
his  quiet  quarters  near  Hackney,  as  if  he  had  been  but  a  common 
clerk,  luxuriating  on  an  income  of  £50  per  annum.  Matters 
went  on  thus  prospering  with  him  till  his  thirty-second  year, 
when  he  married  the  wealthy  widow  of  a  shipbuilder.  The 
influence  which  she  had  in  his  future  fortunes,  warrants  me  in 
pausing  to  describe  her.  She*  was  about  twenty-seven  or 
twenty-eight  years  old ;  of  passable  person  as  far  as  figure  went, 
for  her  face  was  rather  bloated  and  vulgar ;  somewhat  of  a 
dowdy  in  dress ;  insufferably  vain,  and  fond  of  extravagant  dis- 
play ;  a  termagant ;  with  little  or  no  intellect.  In  fact,  she  was 
in  disposition  the  perfect  antipodes  of  her  husband.  Mr  Dud- 
leigh was  a  humble,  unobtrusive,  kind-hearted   man,  always 


♦  "  Mistress  Bumm  (I )  flotait  entre  trente  et  quarante  ans,"  &c. —  French 
Translator 


THE  RUINED  MERCHANT CHAPTEK  XXII.  40!) 

intent  on  business,  beyond  which  he  did  not  pretend  to  know  or 
care  for  much.  How  could  such  a  man,  it  will  be  asked,  marry 
such  a  woman  ? — Was  he  the  first  who  had  been  dazzled  and 
blinded  by  the  blaze  of  a  large  fortune  ?  Such  was  his  case. 
Besides,  a  young  widow  is  somewhat  careful  of  undue  exposures, 
which  might  fright  away  promising  suitors.  So  they  made  a 
match  of  it ;  and  he  resuscitated  the  expiring  business  and  con- 
nexion of  his  predecessor,  and  conducted  it  with  a  skill  and 
energy,  which,  in  a  short  time,  opened  upon  him  the  flood-gates 
of  fortune.  Affluence  poured  in  from  all  quarters  ;  and  he  was 
every  where  called,  by  his  panting  but  distanced  competitors  in 
the  city,  the  '■'■fortunate  Mr  Dudleigh." 

One  memorable  day  four  of  his  vessels,  richly  freighted,  came, 
almost  together,  into  port;  and,  on  the  same  day,  he  made  one 
of  the  most  fortunate  speculations  in  the  funds  which  had  been 
heard  of  for  years  ;  so  that  he  was  able  to  say  to  his  assembled 
family,  as  he  drank  their  healths  after  dinner,  that  he  would  not 
take  a  quarter  of  a  million  for  what  he  was  worth  !  And  there, 
surely,  he  might  have  paused,  nay,  made  his  final  stand,  as  the 
possessor  of  such  a  princely  fortune,  acquired  with  unsullied 
honour  to  himself,  and,  latterly,  spent  in  warrantable  splendour 
and  hospitality.  But  no :  as  is,  and  ever  will  be  the  case,  the 
more  he  had  the  more  he  would  have.  Not  to  mention  the  in- 
cessant baiting  of  his  ambitious  wife,  the  dazzling  capabilities  of 
indefinite  increase  to  his  wealth  proved  irresistible.  What 
might  not  be  done  by  a  man  of  Mr  Dudleigh's  celebrity,  with  a 
floating  capital  of  some  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  pounds,  and 
as  much  credit  as  he  chose  to  accept  of?  The  regular  course  of 
his  shipping  business  brought  him  in  constantly  magnificent 
returns,  and  he  began  to  sigh  after  other  collateral  sources  of 
money-making;  for  why  should  nearly  one-half  of  his  vast 
means  lie  unproductive  ?  He  had  not  long  to  look  about,  after 
it  once  became  known  that  he  was  ready  to  employ  his  floating 
capital  in  profitable  speculations.  The  brokers,  for  instance, 
came  about  him,  and  he  leagued  with  them.  By  and  by,  the 
world  heard  of  a  monopoly  of  nutmegs.  There  was  not  a  score 
to  be  had  any  where  in  London,  but  at  a  most  exorbitant  price 
— for  the  fact  was,  that  Mr  Dudleigh  had  laid  his  hands  on 


410  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

them  all,  and,  by  so  doing,  cleared  a  very  large  sum.  Presently 
he  would  play  similar  pranks  with  otto  of  roses;  and,  as  soon  as 
he  had  quadrupled  the  cost  of  that  fashionable  article,  he  would 
let  loose  his  stores  on  the  gaping  market ;  by  which  he  gained 
as  large  a  profit  as  he  had  made  with  the  nutmegs.  Commer- 
cial people  will  easily  see  how  he  did  this.  The  brokers,  who 
wished  to  effect  the  monopoly,  would  apply  to  him  for  the  use 
of  his  capital,  and  give  him  an  ample  indemnity  against  what- 
ever loss  might  be  the  fate  of  the  speculation ;  and,  on  its  prov- 
ing successful,  rewarded  him  with  a  very  large  proportion  of  the 
profits.  This  is  the  scheme  by  which  many  splendid  fortunes 
have  been  raised,  with  a  rapidity  which  has  astonished  their 
gainers  as  much  as  any  one  else!  Then,  again,  he  negotiated 
bills  on  a  large  scale,  and  at  tremendous  discounts ;  and,  in  a 
word,  by  tliese  and  similar  means,  amassed,  in  a  few  years,  the 
enormous  sum  of  half  a  million  of  money ! 

It  is  easy  to  guess  at  the  concomitants  of  such  a  fortune  as 
this.  At  the  instigation  of  his  wife — for  he  himself  retained 
all  his  old  unobtrusive  and  personally  economical  habits — he 
supported  two  splendid  establishments — the  one  at  the  "  West 
End"  of  the  town,  and  the  other  near  Richmond.  His  wife — 
for  Mr  Dudleigh  himself  seemed  more  like  the  hired  steward  of 
his  fortune  than  its  possessor — was  soon  surrounded  by  swarms 
of  those  titled  blood-suckers,  that  batten  on  bloated  opulence, 
which  has  been  floated  into  the  sea  of  fashion.  Mrs  Dudleigh's 
dinners,  suppers,  routs,  soirees,  fetes-champitres,  flashed  astonish- 
ment on  the  town,  through  the  columns  of  the  obsequious  prints. 
Miss  Dudleigh,  an  elegant  and  really  aimable  girl  about  seven- 
teen, was  beginning  to  get  talked  of  as  a  fashionable  beauty,  and, 
report  said,  had  refused  her  coronets  by  dozens ! — while  "  young 
Harry  Dudleigh"  far  out-topped  the  astonished  Oxonians,  by 
spending  half  as  much  again  as  his  iioble  allowance.  Poor  Mr 
Dudleigh  frequently  looked  on  all  this  with  fear  and  astonishment, 
and,  when  in  the  city,  would  shrug  his  shoulders,  and  speak  of 
the  "  dreadful  doings  at  the  West ! "  I  say,  when  in  the  city — 
for  as  soon  as  he  travelled  westwards,  when  he  entered  the  sphere 
of  his  wife's  influence,  his  energies  were  benumbed  and  para- 
lyzed.    He  had  too  long  quietly  succumbed  to  her  authority,  to 


THE  RUINED  MBRCHAKT. CHAPTER  XXII.  411 

call  it  in  question  now,  and  therefore  he  submitted  to  the  splendid 
appearance  he  was  compelled  to  support.  He  often  said,  how- 
ever, that  "  he  could  not  understand  what  Mrs  Dudleigh  was 
at;"  but  beyond  such  a  hint  he  never  presumed.  He  was  seldom 
or  never  to  be  seen  amid  the  throng  and  crush  of  company  that 
crowded  his  house  evening  after  evening.  The  first  arrival  of 
his  wife's  guests,  was  his  usual  signal  for  seizing  his  hat  and 
stick,  dropping  quietly  from  home,  and  betaking  himself  either 
to  some  sedate  city  friend,  or  to  his  counting-house,  where  he 
now  took  a  kind  of  morbid  pleasure  in  ascertaining  that  his 
gains  were  safe,  and  planning  greater,  to  make  up,  if  possible,  he 
would  say,  "  for  Mrs  Dudleigh's  awful  extravagance."  He  did 
this  so  constantly,  that  Mrs  Dudleigh  began  at  last  to  expect  and 
calculate  on  his  absence  as  a  matter  of  course,  whenever  she 
gave  a  party;  and  her  good-natured,  accommodating  husband  too 
easily  acquiesced,  on  the  ground,  as  his  wife  took  care  to  give 
out,  of  his  health's  not  bearing  late  hours  and  company.  Though 
an  economical,  and  even  parsimonious  man  in  his  habits,  Mr 
Dudleigh  had  as  warm  and  kind  a  heart  as  ever  glowed  in  the 
breast  of  man.  I  have  heard  many  accounts  of  his  systematic 
benevolence,  which  he  chiefly  carried  into  eflFect  at  the  periods  of 
temporary  relegation  to  the  city  above  spoken  of.  Every  Satur- 
day evening,  for  instance,  he  had  a  sort  of  levee,  numerously 
attended  by  merchants'  clerks  and  commencing  tradesmen,  all 
of  whom  he  assisted  most  liberally  with  both  "  cash  and  coun- 
sel," as  he  good-humouredly  called  it.  Many  a  one  of  them  owes 
his  establishment  in  life  to  Mr  Dudleigh,  who  never  lost  sight 
of  any  deserving  object  he  had  once  served. 

A  far  different  creature  Mrs  Dudleigh  !  The  longer  she  lived, 
the  more  she  had  her  way — the  more  frivolous  and  heartless  did 
she  become — the  more  despotic  was  the  sway  she  exercised  over 
her  husband.  Whenever  he  presumed  to  "  lecture  her,"  as  she 
called  it,  she  would  stop  his  mouth,  with  referring  to  the  fortune 
she  had  brought  him,  and  ask  him  triumphantly,  "what  he 
could  have  done  without  her  cash  and  connexions  ? "  Such 
being  the  fact,  it  was  past  all  controversj-  that  she  ought  to  be 
allowed  "  to  have  hev  fling,  now  they  could  so  easily  afiford  it ! " 
The  sums  she  spent  on  her  own  and  her  daughter's  dresses  were 


412  DIART  OF  A  I/ATE  PHYSICIAN. 

absolutely  incredible,  and  almost  petrified  her  poor  husband  when 
the  bills  were  brought  to  him  Both  in  the  articles  of  dress  and 
party-giving,  Mrs  Dudleigh  was  actuated  by  a  spirit  of  frantic 
rivalry  with  her  competitors  ;  and  what  she  wanted  in  elegance 
and  refinement,  she  sought  to  compensate  for  in  extravagance  and 
ostentation.  It  was  to  no  purpose  that  her  trembling  husband, 
with  tears  in  his  eyes,  suggested  to  her  recollection  the  old  say- 
ing, "  that  fools  make  feasts,  and  wise  men  eat  them ;"  and  that, 
if  she  gave  magnificent  dinners  and  suppers,  of  course  great 
people  would  come  and  eat  them  for  her  ;  but  would  they  thank 
her  ?  Her  constant  answer  was,  that  they  "  ougTit  to  support 
their  station  in  society " — that  "  the  world  would  not  believe 
them  rich,  unless  they  showed  it  that  they  were,"  &c.  &c.  Then, 
again,  she  had  a  strong  plea  for  her  enormous  expenditure  in 
the  "bringing  out  of  Miss  Dudleigh,"  in  the  arrayment  of  whom, 
panting  milliners  "  toiled  in  vain."  In  order  to  bring  about  this 
latter  object,  she  induced,  but  with  great  difficulty,  Mr  Dudleigh 
to  give  his  bankers  orders  to  accredit  her  separate  cheques  ;  and 
so  prudently  did  she  avail  herself  of  this  privilege  for  months, 
that  she  completely  threw  Mr  Dudleigh  off  his  guard,  and  he 
allowed  a  very  large  balance  to  lie  in  his  bankers'  hands,  subject 
to  the  unrestricted  drafts  of  his  wife.  Did  the  reader  never 
happen  to  see  in  society  that  horrid  harpy,  an  old  dowager, 
whose  niggard  jointure  drives  her  to  cards  ?  Evening  after 
evening  did  several  of  these  old  creatures  squat,  toad-like,  round 
Mrs  Dudleigh's  card-table,  and  succeeded  at  last  in  inspiring 
her  with  such  a  frenzy  for  "  plat,"  as  the  most  ample  fortune 
must  melt  away  under,  more  rapidly  than  snow  beneath  sun- 
beams. The  infatuated  woman  became  notoriously  the  first  to 
seek,  and  last  to  leave,  the  fatal  card-table ;  and  the  reputed 
readiness  with  which  she  "  bled,"  at  last  brought  her  the  honour 
of  an  old  countess,  who  condescended  to  win  from  her,  at  two 
sittings,  very  nearly  £5000.  It  is  not  now  difficult  to  account  for 
the  anxiety  Mrs  Dudleigh  manifested  to  banish  her  husband 
from  her  parties.  She  had  many  ways  of  satisfactorily  account- 
ing for  her  frequent  drafts  on  his  bankers.  Miss  Dudleigh  had 
made  a  conquest  of  a  young  peer,  who,  as  soon  as  he  had  accu- 
rately ascertained  the  reality  of  hervast  expectations,  fell  deeply 


THE  KUINED  rtEBCHANT. CHAPTER  XXII.  413 

in  love  with  her !  The  young  lady  herself  had  too  much  good 
sense  to  give  him  spontaneous  credit  for  disinterested  affection , 
but  she  was  so  dunned  on  the  subject  by  her  foolish  mother — 
so  petted  and  flattered  by  the  noble,  but  impoverished  family 
that  sought  her  connexion — and  the  young  nobleman,  himself  a 
handsome  man,  so  ardent  and  persevering  in  his  courtship — that 
at  last  her  heart  yielded,  and  she  passed  in  society  as  the  "envied 
object  of  his  affections  ! "  The  notion  of  intermingling  their  blood 
with  NOBILITY,  so  dazzlcd  the  vain  imagination  of  Mrs  Dudleigh, 
that  it  gave  her  eloquence  enough  to  succeed,  at  last,  in  stirring 
the  phlegmatic  temperament  of  her  husband.  "  Have  a  nobleman 
for  MY  SON-IN-LAW  ! "  thought  the  merchant,  morning,  noon,  and 
night — at  the  East  and  at  the  West  End — in  town  and  country ! 
What  would  the  city  people  say  to  that  ?  He  had  a  spice  of 
ambition  in  his  composition,  beyond  what  could  be  contented 
with  the  achieval  of  mere  city  eminence.  He  was  tiring  of  it — - 
he  had  long  been  a  kind  of  king  on  'Change,  and,  as  it  were, 
carried  the  stocks  in  his  pockets.  He  had  long  thought  that  it 
was  "  possible  to  choke  a  dog  with  pudding,"  and  he  was  grow- 
ing heartily  wearied  of  the  turtle*  and  venison  eastward  of 
Temple  Bar,  which  he  was  compelled  to  eat  at  the  public 
dinners  of  the  great  companies,  and  elsewhere,  when  his  own 
tastes  would  have  led  him,  in  every  case,  to  pitch  upon  "  port, 
beef-steaks,  and  the  papers,"  as  fare  fit  for  a  king !  The  daz- 
zling topic,  therefore,  on  which  his  wife  held  forth  with  unwearied 
eloquence,  was  beginning  to  produce  conviction  in  his  mind ; 
and  though  he  himself  eschewed  his  wife's  kind  of  life,  and 
refused  to  share  in  it,  he  did  not  lend  a  very  unwilling  ear  to 
her  representations  of  the  necessity  for  an  even  increased  rate 
of  expenditure,  to  enable  Miss  Dudleigh  to  eclipse  her  gay  com- 
petitors, and  appear  a  worthy  prize  in  the  eyes  of  her  noble 
suitor.  Aware  of  the  magnitude  of  the  proposed  object,  he  could 
not  but  assent  to  Mrs  Dudleigh's  opinion,  that  extraordinary 
means  must  be  made  use  of;  and  was  at  last  persuaded  into 
placing  nearly  £20,000  in  his  new  banker's  hands,  subject,  as 
before,  to  Mrs  Dudleigh's  drafts,  which  she  promised  him  should 

•  "  Dons  tous  les  repas  solennels  de  la  cite  de  Londres,  une  soupe  d  la  tortue 
est  de  rigueur  1 "— fj-encA  Translator. 


414  DIARY  or  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

be  as  seldom  and  as  moderate  as  she  could  possibly  contrive  to 
meet  neeesssary  expenses  with.  His  many  and  heavy  expenses, 
together  with  the  great  sacrifice  in  prospect,  when  the  time  of 
his  daughter's  marriage  should  arrive,  supplied  him  with  new 
incentives  to  enter  into  commercial  speculations.  He  tried 
several  new  schemes,  threw  all  the  capital  he  could  command 
into  new  and  even  more  productive  quarters,  and  calculated  on 
making  vast  accessions  of  fortune  at  the  end  of  the  year. 

About  a  fortnight  after  Mr  Dudleigh  had  informed  Mrs  Dud- 
leigh  of  the  new  lodgment  he  had  made  at  his  banker's,  she  gave 

a  very  large  evening  party  at  her  house  in Square.     She 

had  been  very  successful  in  her  guests  on  the  occasion,  having 
engaged  the  attendance  of  my  Lords  This,  and  my  Ladies  That, 

innumerable.     Even  the  high  and  haughty  Duke  of had 

deigned  to  look  in  for  a  few  moments,  on  his  way  to  a  party  at 
Carlton  House,  for  the  purpose  cf  sneering  at  the  "  splendid  cit," 
and  extracting  topics  of  laughter  for  his  royal  host.     The  whole 

of Square,  and  one  or  two  of  the  adjoining  streets,  were 

absolutely  choked  with  carriages — the  carriages  of  her  guests ! 
When  you  entered  her  magnificent  apartments,  and  had  made 
your  way  through  the  soft  crush  and  flutter  of  aristocracy,  you 
might  see  the  lady  of  the  house  throbbing  and  panting  with 
excitement — a  perfect  blaze  of  jewellery — flanked  by  her  very 

kind  friends,  old  Lady ,  and  the  well-known  Miss  , 

engaged,  as  usual,  at  unlimited  loo.  The  good  humour  with 
which  Mrs  Dudleigh  lost,  was  declared  to  be  "  quite  charming" 
— "  deserving  of  better  fortune ; "  and,  inflamed  by  the  cayenned 
compliments  they  forced  upon  her,  she  was  just  uttering  some 
sneering  and  insolent  allusion  to  "that  odious  city"  while  old 
Lady 's  withered  talons  were  extended  to  clutch  her  win- 
nings, when  there  was  perceived  a  sudden  stir  about  the  chief 
door — then  a  general  hush — and,  in  a  moment  or  two,  a  gentle- 
man, in  dusty  and  disordered  dress,  with  his  hat  on,  rushed 
through  the  astonished  crowd,  and  made  his  way  towards  the 
card-table  at  which  Mrs  Dudleigh  was  seated,  and  stood  con- 
fronting her,  extending  towards  her  his  right  hand,  in  which 
was  a  thin  slip  of  paper.  It  was  Mr  Dudleigh !  "  There — 
there,  madam  ! "  he  gasped  in  a  hoarse  voice — "  there,  woman  1 


THE  EUINED  MERCHANT. — CHAPTER  XXII.  415 

—what  have  you  done  ? — Ruined — ruined  me,  madam — you've 
ruined  me!  My  credit  is  destroyed  for  ever! — my  name  is 
tainted.  Here's  the  first  dishonoured  bill  that  ever  bore  Henry 
Dudleigh's  name  upon  it ! — Yes,  madam,  it  is  tou  who  have 
done  it ! "  he  continued,  with  vehement  tone  and  gesture,  utterly 
regardless  of  the  breathless  throng  around  him,  and  continuing 
to  extend  towards  her  the  protested  bill  of  exchange. 

"  My  dear  ! — my  dear — my — my — my  dear  Mr  Dudleigh," 
stammered  his  wife,  without  rising  from  her  chair,  "  what  is  the 
matter,  love  ?" 

"■Matter,  madam? — why,  by ! — that  you've  ruined  me 

—that's  all!  Where's  the  £20,000  I  placed  in  Messrs  's 

hands  a  few  days  ago  ? — Where — where  is  it,  Mrs  Dudleigh  ?  " 
he  continued,  almost  shouting,  and  advancing  nearer  to  her 
with  his  fist  clenched. 

"  Henry  ! — dear  Henry ! — mercy,  mercy !" murmured  his 

wife  faintly. 

"  Henry,  indeed!  iliercy ?— Silence,  madam  !  How  dare  you 
deny  me  an  answer  ?  How  dare  you  swindle  me  out  of  my  for- 
tune in  this  way  ?"  he  continued,  fiercely  wiping  the  perspira- 
tion from  his  forehead  :  "  Here's  my  bill  for  £4000,  made  pay- 
able at  Messrs ,  my  new  bankers  ;  and  when  it  was  presented 

this  morning,  madam,  by !  the  reply  was,  '  no  effects  ! ' 

and  my  bill  has  been  dishonoured !  Wretch !  ivhat  have  you 
done  with  my  money  ?    Where  is  it  all  gone  ?— I'm  the  town's 

talk  about  this bill !    There'll  be  a  run  upon  me  !— I  know 

there  will— ay — this  is  the  way  my  hard-earned  wealth  is  squan- 
dered, you  vile,  you  unprincipled  spendthrift !  "  he  continued, 
turning  round  and  pointing  to  the  astounded  guests,  none  of 
whom  had  uttered  a  syllable.  The  music  had  ceased— the  dan- 
cers left  their  places— the  card-tables  were  deserted— in  a  word, 

all  was  blank  consternation.    The  fact  was,  that  old  Lady , 

who  was  that  moment  seated,  trembling  like  an  aspen  leaf,  at 
Mrs  Dudleigh's  right  hand  side,  had  won  from  her,  during  the 
last  month,  a  series  of  sums  amounting  to  little  short  of  £9000, 
which  Mrs  Dudleigh  had  paid  the  day  before,  by  a  cheque  on 
her  banker;  and,  that  very  morning,  she  had  drawn  out  £4000 
odd,  to  pay  her  coachmaker's,  confectioner's,  and  milliner's  bills, 


416  DIAEY  OF  A  LATE  PHTSICIAX. 

and  supply  herself  with  cash  for  the  evening's  spoliation.  The 
remaining  £7000  had  been  drawn  out  during  the  preceding 
fortnight,  to  pay  her  various  clamorous  creditors,  and  keep  her 
in  readiness  for  the  gaming  table.  Mr  Dudleigh,  on  hearing  of 
the  dishonour  of  his  bill — the  news  of  which  was  brought  him 
by  a  clerk,  for  he  was  staying  at  a  friend's  house  in  the  country 
— came  up  instantly  to  town,  paid  the  bill,  and  then  hurried, 

half  beside  himself,  to  his  house  in Square.     It  is  not  at 

all  wonderful,  that,  though  Mr  Dudleigh's  name  was  well  known 
as  an  eminent  and  responsible  mercantile  man,  his  bankers, 
with  whom  he  had  but  recently  opened  an  account,  should 
decline  paying  his  bill,  after  so  large  a  sum  as  £20,000  had 
been  drawn  out  of  their  hands  by  Mrs  Dudleigh.  It  looked 
suspicious  enough,  truly ! 

"  Mrs  Dudleigh!  where — where  is  my  £20,000?"  he  shouted 
almost  at  the  top  of  his  voice  ;  but  Mrs  Dudleigh  heard  him  not, 

for  she  had  fallen  fainting  into  the  arms  of  Lady .  Numbers 

rushed  forward  to  her  assistance.  The  confusion  and  agitation 
that  ensued  it  would  be  impossible  to  describe  ;  and  in  the  midst 
of  it,  Mr  Dudleigh  strode,  at  a  furious  pace,  out  of  the  room, 
and  left  the  house.  For  the  next  three  or  four  days  he  behaved 
like  a  madman.  His  apprehensions  magnified  the  temporary 
and  very  trifling  injury  his  credit  had  sustained,  till  he  fancied 
himself  on  the  eve  of  becoming  bankrupt.  And,  indeed,  where 
is  the  merchant  of  any  eminence,  whom  such  a  circumstance  as 
the  dishonour  of  a  bill  for  £4000  (however  afterwards  accounted 
for)  would  not  exasperate  ?    For  several   days  Mr  Dudleigh 

would  not  go  near Square,  and  did  not  once  enquire  after 

Mrs  Dudleigh.  My  professional  services  were  put  into  requisi- 
tion on  her  behalf.  Rage,  shame,  and  agony,  at  the  thought  of 
the  disgraceful  exposure  she  had  met  with,  in  the  eyes  of  all  her 
assembled  guests — of  those  respecting  whose  opinions  she  was 
most  exquisitely  sensitive — had  nearly  driven  her  distracted. 
She  continued  so  ill  for  about  a  week,  and  exhibited  such  fre- 
quent glimpses  of  delirium,  that  I  was  compelled  to  resort  to 
very  active  treatment  to  avert  a  brain  fever.  More  than  once, 
I  heard  her  utter  the  words,  or  something  like  them — "  be 


THE  RUINED  MERCHANT. CHAPTER  XXII.  417 

revenged  on  him  yet ! "  but  whether  or  not  she  was  at  the  time 
sensible  of  the  import  of  what  she  said,  I  did  not  know. 

The  incident  above  recorded — which  I  had  from  the  lips  of 
Mr  Dudleigh  himself,  as  well  as  from  others — made  a  good  deal 
of  noise  in  what  are  called  "  the  fashionable  circles,"  and  was 
obscurely  hinted  at  in  one  of  the  daily  papers.  I  was  much 
amused  at  hearing,  in  the  various  circles  I  visited,  the  conflicting 
and  exaggerated  accounts  of  it.  One  old  lady  told  me  she  "  had 
it  on  the  best  authority,  that  Mr  Dudleigh  actually  struck  his 
wife,  and  wrenched  her  purse  out  of  her  hand!"  I  recom- 
mended Mrs  Dudleigh  to  withdraw  for  a  few  weeks  to  a  watering 
place,  and  she  followed  my  advice  ;  taking  with  her  Miss  Dud- 
leigh, whose  health  and  spirits  had  suffered  materially  through 
the  event  which  has  been  mentioned.  Poor  girl !  she  was  of  a 
very  different  mould  from  her  mother,  and  suffered  acutely, 
though  silently,  at  witnessing  the  utter  contempt  in  which  her 
mother  was  held  by  the  very  people  she  made  such  prodigious 
efforts  to  court  and  conciliate.  Can  any  situation  be  conceived 
more  painful  ?  Her  few  and  gentle  remonstrances,  however, 
met  invariably  with  a  harsh  and  cruel  reception ;  and,  at  last, 
she  was  compelled  to  hold  her  peace,  and  bewail,  in  mortified 
silence,  her  mother's  obtuseness. 

They  continued  at about  a  month ;  and,  on  their  re- 
turn to  town,  found  the  affair  quite  "  blown  over ; "  and  soon 
afterwards,  through  the  mediation  of  mutual  friends,  the  angry 
couple  were  reconciled  to  each  other.  For  twelve  long  months, 
Mrs  Dudleigh  led  a  comparatively  quiet  and  secluded  life,  ab- 
staining— with  but  a  poor  grace,  it  is  true — from  company  and 
cards — from  the  latter  compulsorily ;  for  no  one  chose  to  sit 
down  at  play  with  her,  who  had  witnessed  or  heard  of  the  event 
which  had  taken  place  last  season.  In  short,  every  thing  seemed 
going  on  well  with  our  merchant  and  his  family.     It  was  fixed 

that  his  daughter  was  to  become  Lady as  soon  as  young 

Lord  should  have  returned  from  the  Continent;   and  a 

dazzling  dowery  was  spoke  of  as  hers  on  the  day  of  her  mar- 
riage. Pleased  with  his  wife's  good  behaviour,  Mr  Dudleigh's 
confidence  and  good-nature  revived,  and  he  held  the  reins  with 
a  rapidly  slackening  grasp.     In  proportion  as  he  allowed  her 

1  2d 


418  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

funds,  her  scared  "friends"  flocked  again  around  her;  and,  by 
and  by,  she  was  seen  flouncing  about  in  fashion  as  heretofore, 
with  small  "let  or  hinderanee"  from  her  husband.  The  world 
— the  sagacious  world — called  Mr  Dudleigh  a  happy  man ;  and 
the  city  swelled  at  the  mention  of  his  name  and  doings.  The 
mercantile  world  laid  its  highest  honours  at  his  feet.  The 
Mayoralty — a  Bank,  an  East  Indian  Directorship — a  seat  for 
the  city  in  Parliament— all  glittered  within  his  grasp — but  he 
would  not  stretch  forth  his  hand.  He  was  content,  he  would 
say,  to  be  "  plain  Henry  Dudleigh,  whose  word  was  as  good  as 
his  bond" — a  leading  man  on  'Change — and,  above  all,  "who 
could  look  every  one  full  in  the  face  with  whom  he  had  ever  had 
to  do."  He  was,  indeed,  a  worthy  man — a  rich  and  racy  specimen 
of  one  of  those  glories  of  our  nation — a  true  English  merchant. 
The  proudest  moments  of  his  life  were  those,  when  an  accom- 
panying friend  could  estimate  his  consequence,  by  witnessing 
the  mandarin  movements  that  every  where  met  him — the  obse- 
quious obeisances  of  even  his  closest  rivals — as  he  hurried  to 
and  fro  about  the  central  regions  of  'Change,  his  hands  stuck 
into  the  worn  pockets  of  his  plain  snuff-coloured  coat.  The 
merest  glance  at  Mr  Dudleigh — his  hurried,  fidgety,  anxious 
gestures — the  keen,  cautious  expression  of  his  glittering  grey 
eyes — his  mouth,  screwed  up  like  a  shut  purse — all,  all  told  of 
the  "  man  of  a  million."  There  was,  in  a  manner,  a  "  plum"  in 
every  tread  of  his  foot,  in  every  twinkle  of  his  eye.  He  could 
never  be  said  to  breathe  freely — really  to  live — but  in  his  con- 
genial atmosphere — his  native  element — the  city ! 

Once  every  year  he  gave  a  capital  dinner,  at  a  tavern,  to  all 
his  agents,  clerks,  and  people  in  any  way  connected  with  him 
in  business ;  and  none  but  himself  knew  the  quiet  ecstasy  with 
which  he  took  his  seat  at  the  head  of  them  all,  joined  in  their 
timid  jokes,  echoed  their  modest  laughter,  made  speeches,  and 
was  be-speechified  in  turn  !  How  he  sat  while  great  things  were 
saying  of  him,  on  the  occasion  of  his  health's  being  drunk  !  On 
one  of  these  occasions,  his  health  had  been  proposed  by  his  sleek 
head-clerk,  in  a  most  neat  and  appropriate  speech,  and  drunk 
with  uproarious  enthusiasm;  and  good  Mr  Dudleigh  was  on  his 
legs,  energetically  making  his  annual  avowal,  that  "  that  was 


THE  RUINED  MERCHANT. CHAPTEK  XXII.  419 

the  proudest  moment  of  his  life,"  when  one  of  the  waiters  came 
and  interrupted  him,  by  saying  that  a  gentleman  was  without, 
waiting  to  speak  to  him  on  most  important  business.  Mr  Dud- 
leigh  hurriedly  whispered  that  he  would  attend  to  the  stranger 
in  a  few  minutes,  and  the  waiter  withdrew ;  but  returned  in  a 
second  or  two,  and  put  a  card  into  his  hand.  Mr  Dudleigh  was 
electrified  at  the  name  it  bore — that  of  the  great  loan-contractor 
— the  city  Croesus,  whose  wealth  was  reported  to  be  incalcu- 
lable! He  hastily  called  on  some  one  to  supply  his  place;  and 
had  hardly  passed  the  door,  before  he  was  hastily  shaken  by  the 
hands  by ,  who  told  him  at  once  that  he  had  called  to  pro- 
pose to  Mr  Dudleigh  to  take  part  with  him  in  negotiating  a  very 

large  loan  on  account  of  the Government !  After  a  flurried 

pause,  Mr  Dudleigh,  scarcely  knowing  what  he  was  saying, 
assented.  In  a  day  or  two,  the  transaction  was  duly  blazoned 
in  the  leading  papers  of  the  day ;  and  every  one  in  the  city,  spoke 
of  him  as  one  likely  to  double,  or  even  treble,  his  already  ample 
fortune.  Again  he  was  praised — again  censured — again  envied  I 
It  was  considered  advisable  that  he  should  repair  to  the  Conti- 
nent, during  the  course  of  the  negotiation,  in  order  that  he 
might  personally  superintend  some  important  collateral  trans- 
actions: and  when  there,  he  was  most  unexpectedly  detained 
nearly  two  months.  Alas!  that  he  ever  left  England!  During 
his  absence,  his  infatuated  wife  betook  herself — "  like  the  dog 
to  his  vomit,  like  the  sow  to  her  wallowing  in  the  mire" — to  her 
former  ruinous  courses  of  extravagance  and  dissipation,  but  on 
a  fearfully  larger  scale.  Her  house  was  more  like  an  hotel  than 
a  private  dwelling ;  and  blazed  away,  night  after  night,  with 
light  and  company,  till  the  whole  neighbourhood  complained  of 
the  incessant  uproar  occasioned  by  the  mere  arrival  and  depar- 
ture of  her  guests.  To  her  other  dreadful  besetments,  Mrs 
Dudleigh  now  added  the  odious  and  vulgar  vice  of — intoxica- 
tion! She  complained  of  the  deficiency  of  her  animal  spirits; 
and  said  she  took  liquor  as  a  medicine!  She  required  stimulus 
and  excitement,  she  said,  to  sustain  her  mind  under  the  perpe- 
tual run  of  ill  luck  she  had  at  cards !  It  was  in  vain  that  her 
poor  daughter  remonstrated,  and  almost  cried  herself  into  fits,  on 
seeing  her  mother  return  home,  frequently  in  the  dull  stupor  of 


420  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

absolute  intoxication !  "  Mother,  mother,  my  heart  is  breaking ! " 
said  she,  one  evening. 

"  So — so  is  mine,"  hiccupped  her  parent ;  "  so,  get  me  the 
decanter ! " 

Young  Harry  Dudleigh  trode  emulously  in  the  footsteps  of 
his  mother ;  and  ran  riot  to  an  extent  that  -was  before  unknown 
to  Oxford !  The  sons  of  very  few  of  the  highest  nobility  had 
handsomer  allowances  than  he ;  yet  was  he  constantly  over  head 
and  ears  in  debt.  He  was  a  backer  of  the  ring  ruffians ;  a  great 
man  at  cock  and  dog  fights ;  a  racer ;  in  short,  a  blackguard  of 
the  first  water.  During  the  recess,  he  had  come  up  to  town  and 
taken  up  his  quarters,  not  at  his  father's  house,  but  at  one  of 
the  distant  hotels  ;  where  he  might  pursue  his  profligate  courses 
without  fear  of  interruption.  He  had  repeatedly  bullied  his 
mother  out  of  large  sums  of  money  to  supply  his  infamous  extra- 
vagances ;  and,  at  length,  became  so  insolent  and  exorbitant  in 
his  demands,  that  they  quarrelled.  One  evening,  about  nine 
o'clock,  Mrs  and  Miss  Dudleigh  happened  to  be  sitting  in  the 
drawing-room,  alone — and  the  latter  was  pale  with  the  agita- 
tion consequent  on  some  recent  quarrel  with  her  mother ;  for  the 
poor  girl  had  been  passionately  reproaching  her  mother  for  her 
increasing  attachment  to  liquor,  under  the  influence  of  which 
she  evidently  was  at  that  moment.  Suddenly  a  voice  was  heard 
in  the  hall,  and  on  the  stairs  singing,  or  rather  bawling,  snatclies 
of  some  comic  song  or  other  ;  the  drawing-room  door  was  pre- 
sently pushed  open,  and  young  Dudleigh,  more  than  half  intoxi- 
cated, made  his  appearance  in  a  slovenly  evening  dress. 

"  Madame  ma  mere  !  "  said  he,  staggering  towards  the  sofa, 
where  his  mother  and  sister  were  sitting — "  I — I  must  be  sup- 
plied— I  must,  mother!  "  he  hiccupped,  stretching  towards  her 
his  right  hand,  and  tapping  the  palm  of  it  significantly  with  his 
left  fingers. 

"  Poh— nonsense ! — oflT  to — to  bed,  young  scape-grace ! "  re- 
plied his  mother  drowsily,  for  the  stupor  of  wine  lay  heavily 
on  her. 

"'Tis  useless,  madam — quite,  I  assure  you  ! — Money — money 
— money  I  must  and  will  have  !  "  said  her  son,  striving  to  steady 
himself  against  a  chair. 


THE  RUINED  MERCHANT CHAPTER  XXH.  42l 

"  Why,  Harry,  dear !— where's  the  fifty  pounds  I  gave  you  a 
cheque  for  only  a  day  or  two  ago  ?  " 

"  Gone !  gone  the  way  of  all  money,  madam — as  you  know 
pretty  well !     I— I  must  have  L.300  by  to-morrow  " 

"  Three  hundred  pounds,  Henry  !  "  exclaimed  his  mother, 
angrily. 

"  Yes,  ma'am !  Sir  Charles  won't  be  put  off  any  longer,  he 
says.  Has  my— my— word— '  good  as  my  bond' — as  the  old 
governor  says  !  Mother,"  he  continued,  in  a  louder  tone,  fling- 
ing his  hat  violently  on  the  floor,  "I  must  and  wiu.  have 
money ! " 

"  Henrj%  it's  disgraceful — infamous — most  infamous  !  "  ex- 
claimed Miss  Dudleigh,  with  a  shocked  air;  and  raising  her 
handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  she  rose  from  the  sofa,  and  walked 
hurriedly  to  the  opposite  end  of  the  room,  and  sat  down  in  tears. 
Poor  girl ! — what  a  mother !  what  a  brother  !  The  young  man 
took  the  place  she  had  occupied  by  her  mother's  side,  and,  in  a 
wheedling,  coaxing  way,  threw  his  arm  around  Mrs  Dudleigh, 
hiccupping — "  Mother,  give  me  a  cheque  ! — do,  please  ! — 'tis  the 
last  time  I'll  ask  you,  for  a  twelvemonth  to  come  ! — and  I  owe 
L.500  that  must  be  paid  in  a  day  or  two  !  " 

"  How  can  I,  Harry  ?  Dear  Harry,  don't  be  unreasonable  ! 
recollect  I'm  a  kind  mother  to  you,"  kissing  him,  "  and  don't 
distress  me,  for  I  owe  three  or  four  times  as  much  myself,  and 
cannot  pay  it." 

"  Eh !  eh  !  cannot  pay  it ! — stuff,  ma'am !  Why,  is  the  bank 
run  dry  ?  "  he  continued,  with  an  apprehensive  stare. 

"  Yes,  love,  long  ago  !  "  replied  his  mother  with  a  sigh. 

"  Whoo,  whoo !  "  he  exclaimed ;  and,  rising,  he  walked,  or 
rather  staggered  a  few  steps  to  and  fro,  as  if  attempting  to  col- 
lect his  faculties,  and  think  ! 

"  Ah,  ha,  ha !  eureka,  ma'am  !  "  he  exclaimed  suddenly  after 
a  pause,  snapping  his  fingers,  "  I've  got  it — I  have  !  the  plate, 
mother!  the  plate — Hem!  raising  the  wind;  you  understand  me!" 

"Oh,  shocking,  shocking!"  sobbed  Miss  Dudleigh,  hurrying 
towards  them,  wringing  her  hands  bitterly ;  "  O  mother !  O 
Henry,  Henry !  would  you  ruin  my  poor  father,  and  break  his 
heart  ?  " 


422  DIAET  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

"Ah,  the  plate,  mother !  the  plate ! "  he  continued,  addressing 
his  mother ;  then  turning  to  his  sister,  "  Away,  you  little  puss, 
puss !  what  do  you  understand  about  business,  eh  !  "  and  he  at- 
tempted to  kiss  her,  but  she  thrust  him  away  with  indignation 
and  horror  in  her  gestures. 

"  Come,  mother ! — Will  it  do?  A  lucky  thought !     The  plate! 

Mr is  a  rare  hand  at  this  kind  of  thing ! — a  thousand  or 

two  would  set  you  and  me  to  rights  in  a  twinkling !  Come, 
what  say  you  ?  " 

"  Impossible,  Harry !  "  replied  his  mother,  turning  pale,  "  'tis 
quite — 'tis — 'tis — out  of  the  question  !  " 

"  Poh  !  no  such  thing  !  It  rmist  be  done  !  Why  cannot  it, 
ma'am  ?  "  enquired  the  young  man  earnestly. 

"  Why,  because,  if  you  must  know,  sirrah  !  because  it  is  al- 
KEADT  pawned  ! "  replied  his  mother  in  a  loud  voice,  shaking 
her  hand  at  him  with  passion.  Their  attention  was  attracted 
at  that  moment  towards  the  door,  which  had  been  standing  ajar, 
— for  there  was  the  sound  of  some  one  suddenly  fallen  down. 
After  an  instant's  pause,  they  all  three  walked  to  the  door,  and 
stood    gazing  horror-struck   at   the    prostrate    figure  of  Mr 

DUDLEIGH  ! 

He  had  been  standing  unperceived  in  the  doorway— having 
entered  the  house  only  a  moment  or  two  after  his  son — during 
the  whole  of  the  disgraceful  scene  just  described,  almost  petri- 
fied with  grief,  amazement,  and  horror,  till  he  could  bear  it  no 
longer,  and  fell  down  in  an  apoplectic  fit.  He  had  but  that 
evening  returned  from  abroad,  exhausted  with  physical  fatigue, 
and  dispirited  in  mind  ;  for,  while  abroad,  he  had  made  a  most 
disastrous  move  in  the  foreign  funds,  by  which  he  lost  upwards 
of  sixty  or  seventy  thousand  pounds ;  and  his  negotiation  scheme 
also  turned  out  very  unfortunateh^,  and  left  him  minus  nearly 
as  much  more.  He  had  hurried  home,  half  dead  with  vexation 
and  anxiety,  to  make  instant  arrangements  for  meeting  the 
most  pressing  of  his  pecuniary  engagements  in  England,  appre- 
hensive, from  the  gloomy  tenor  of  his  agent's  letters  to  him 
while  abroad,  that  his  affairs  were  falling  into  confusion.  Oh ! 
what  a  heart-breaking  scene  had  he  to  encounter,  instead  of  the 
comforts  and  welcome  of  home ! 


THE  RUINED  MERCHANT. CHAPTER  XXII.  42S 

This  incident  brought  me  again  into  contact  with  this  devoted 
family ;  for  I  was  summoned  by  the  distracted  daughter  to  her 
fathers  bedside,  which  I  found  surrounded  by  his  wife  and  chil- 
dren. The  shock  of  his  presence  had  completely  sobered  both 
mother  and  son,  who  hung,  horror-stricken  over  him,  on  each 
side  of  the  bed,  endeavouring  in  vain  to  recall  him  to  sensibility. 
I  had  scarcely  entered  the  room,  before  Mrs  Dudleigh  was  car- 
ried away  swooning  in  the  arms  of  a  servant.  Mr  Dudleigh 
was  in  a  fit  of  apoplexy.  He  lay  in  a  state  of  profound  stupor, 
breathing  stertorously — more  like  snorting.  I  had  him  raised 
into  nearly  an  upright  position,  and  immediately  bled  him 
largely  from  the  jugular  vein.  While  the  blood  was  flowing,  my 
attention  was  arrested  by  the  appearance  of  young  Dudleigh  ; 
who  was  kneeling  down  by  the  bedside,  his  hands  clasped  con- 
vulsively together,  and  his  swollen  blood-shot  eyes  fixed  on  his 
father.  "Father!  father!  father!"  were  the  only  words  he 
uttered,  and  these  fell  quivering  from  his  lips  unconsciously. 
Miss  Dudleigh,  who  had  stood  leaning  against  the  bedpost  in 
stupefied  silence,  and  pale  as  a  statue,  was  at  length  too  faint  to 
continue  any  longer  in  an  upright  posture,  and  was  led  out  of  the 
room.     Here  was  misery  !  here  was  remorse  ! 

I  continued  with  my  patient  more  than  an  hour,  and  was  gra- 
tified at  finding  that  there  was  every  appearance  of  the  attack 
proving  a  mild  and  manageable  one.  I  prescribed  suitable 
remedies,  and  left — enjoining  young  Dudleigh  not  to  quit  his 
father  for  a  moment,  but  to  watch  every  breath  he  drew.  He 
hardly  seemed  to  hear  me,  and  gazed  in  my  face  vacantly  while 
I  addressed  him.  I  shook  him  gently,  and  repeated  my  injunc- 
tions ;  but  all  he  could  reply  was — "  Oh — doctor — we  have 
killed  him  !" 

Before  leaving  the  house,  I  repaired  to  the  chamber  where 
Mrs  Dudleigh  lay,  just  recovering  from  strong  hysterics.  I  was 
filled  with  astonishment,  on  reflecting  upon  the  whole  scene  of 
that  evening  ;  and,  in  particular,  on  the  appearance  and  remorse- 
ful expressions  of  young  Dudleigh.  What  could  have  happened  ? 

A.  day  or  two  afterwards.  Miss  Dudleigh,  with  shame  and 

reluctance,  communicated  to  me  the  chief  facts  above  stated .' 
Her  own  health  and  spirits  vrere  manifestly  suffering  from  the 


424  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

distressing  scenes  she  had  to  endure.  She  told  me  with  energy 
that  she  could  sink  into  the  earth,  on  reflecting  that  she  was  the 
daughter  of  such  a  mother,  the  sister  of  such  a  brother  ! 

[The  Diary  passes  hastily  over  a  fortnight — saying  merely 
that  Mr  Dudleigh  recovered  more  rapidly  than  could  have  been 
expected — and  proceeds — ] 

Monday,  June  18. — While  I  vras  sitting  beside  poor  Mr 
Dudleigh,  this  afternoon,  feeling  his  pulse,  and  putting  questions 
to  him,  which  he  was  able  to  answer  with  tolerable  distinctness, 
Miss  Dudleigh  came  and  whispered  that  her  mother  —  who, 
though  she  had  seen  her  husband  frequently,  had  not  spoken  to 
him,  or  been  recognized  by  him  since  his  illness — was  anxious 
then  to  come  in,  as  she  heard  that  he  was  perfectly  sensible.  I 
asked  him  if  he  had  any  objections  to  see  her ;  and  he  replied 
with  a  sigh — "  No.  Let  her  come  in,  and  see  what  she  has 
brought  me  to  !  "  In  a  few  minutes'  time  she  was  in  the  room. 
I  observed  Mr  Dudleigh's  eyes  directed  anxiously  to  the  door 
before  she  entered  ;  and  the  instant  he  saw  her  pallid  features, 
and  the  languid  exhausted  air  with  which  she  advanced  towards 
the  bed,  he  lifted  up  his  shaking  hands,  and  beckoned  towards 
her.  His  eyes  filled  with  tears,  to  overflowing,  and  he  attempted 
to  speak — but  in  vain.  She  tottered  to  his  side,  and  fell  down 
on  her  knees ;  while  he  clasped  her  hands  in  his,  kissed  her 
affectionatel}^  and  both  of  them  wept  like  children ;  as  did 
young  Dudleigh  and  his  sister.  That  was  the  hour  of  full  for- 
giveness and  reconciliation  !  It  was  indeed  a  touching  scene. 
There  lay  the  deeply  injured  father  and  husband,  his  grey  hair 
(grown  long  during  his  absence  on  the  Continent,  and  his  illness) 
combed  back  from  his  temples;  his  pale  and  fallen  features 
exhibiting  deep  traces  of  the  anguish  he  had  borne.  He  gave 
one  hand  to  his  son  and  daughter,  while  the  other  continued 
grasped  by  Mrs  Dudleigh. 

"  Oh,  dear,  dear  husband  ! — Can  you  forgive  us,  who  have  so 
nearly  broken  your  heart  ?  " — she  sobbed,  kissing  his  forehead. 
He  strove  to  reply,  but  burst  into  tears,  without  being  able  to 
utter  a  word.  Fearful  that  the  prolonged  excitement  of  such  an 
interview  might  prove  injurious,  I  gave  Mrs  Dudleigh  a  hint  to 
withdraw — and   left   the   room   with    her.     She   had   scarcely 


THE  RDINED  MERCHANT. CHAPTER  SXII.  425 

descended  the  staircase,  wlien  she  suddenly  seized  my  arm, 
stared  me  full  in  the  face,  and  burst  into  a  fit  of  loud  and  wild 
laughter.  I  carried  her  into  the  first  room  I  could  find,  and 
gave  her  all  the  assistance  in  my  power.  It  was  long,  however, 
before  she  recovered.  She  continually  exclaimed—"  Oh,  what 
a  wretch  I've  been  !  What  a  vile  wretch  I've  been  ! — and  he  so 
kind  and  forgiving  too  ! " 

As  soon  as  Mr  Dudleigh  was  sufficiently  recovered  to  leave 
his  bedroom — contrary  to  my  vehemently  expressed  opinion — he 
entered  at  once  on  the  active  management  of  his  afi'airs.  It  is 
easy  to  conceive  how  business  of  such  an  extensive  and  compli- 
cated character  as  his  must  have  suffered  from  so  long  an  inter- 
mission of  his  personal  superintendence — especially  at  such  a 
critical  conjuncture.  Though  his  head-clerk  was  an  able  and 
faithful  man,  he  was  not  at  all  equal  to  the  overwhelming  task 
which  devolved  upon  him  ;  and  when  Mr  Dudleigh,  the  first 
day  of  his  coming  down  stairs,  sent  for  him,  in  order  to  learn 
the  general  aspect  of  his  affairs,  he  wrung  his  hands  despairingly, 
to  find  the  lamentable  confusion  into  which  they  had  fallen. 
The  first  step  to  be  taken,  was  the  discovery  of  funds  where- 
with to  meet  some  heavy  demands  which  had  been,  for  some 
time,  clamorously  asserted.  What,  however,  was  to  be  done  ? 
His  unfortunate  speculations  in  the  foreign  funds  had  made  sad 
havoc  of  his  floating  capital ;  and  further  fluctuations  in  the 
English  funds,  during  his  illness,  had  added  to  his  losses.  As 
far  as  ready  money  went,  therefore,  he  was  comparatively  pen- 
niless. All  his  resources  were  so  locked  up,  as  to  be  promptly 
available  only  at  ruinous  sacrifices ;  and  yet  he  must  procure 
many  thousands  within  a  few  days^or  he  trembled  to  contem- 
plate the  consequences. 

"  Call  in  the  money  I  advanced  on  mortgage  of  my  Lord 
's  property,"  said  he. 

"  We  shall  lose  a  third,  sir,  of  what  we  advanced  if  we  do," 
replied  the  clerk. 

"  Can't  help  it,  sir,  must  have  money — and  that  instantly — call 
it  in  sir."  The  clerk,  with  a  sigh,  entered  his  orders  accord- 
ingly. 

"  Ah — let  me  see.     Sell  all  my  shares  in ." 


426  BIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN 

"  Allow  me  to  suggest,  sir,  that,  if  you  will  but  wait  two 
months,  or  even  six  weeks  longer,  they  will  be  worth  twenty 
times  what  you  gave  for  them  ;  whereas,  if  you  part  with  tliera 
at  present,  it  must  be  at  a  heavy  discount." 

"  Must  have  money,  sir  !  must ! — write  it  down  too,"  replied 
Mr  Dudleigh  sternly.  In  this  manner  he  "  ticketed  out  his  pro- 
perty for  ruin,"  as  his  clerk  said — throughout  the  interview. 
His  demeanour  and  spirit  were  altogether  changed ;  the  first 
was  become  stern  and  imperative,  the  latter  rash  and  inconside- 
rate, to  a  degree  which  none  would  credit,  who  had  known  his 
former  mode  of  conducting  business.  All  the  prudence  and 
energy  which  had  secured  him  such  splendid  results,  seemed 
now  lost,  irrecoverably  lost.  Whether  or  not  this  change  was 
to  be  accounted  for  by  mental  imbecility  consequent  on  his 
recent  apoplectic  seizure,  or  the  disgust  he  felt  at  toiling  in  the 
accummulation  of  wealth  which  had  been,  and  might  yet  be, 
so  profligately  squandered,  I  know  not ;  but  his  conduct  now 
consisted  of  alternations  between  the  extremes  of  rashness  and 
timorous  indecision.  He  would  waver  and  hesitate  about  the 
outlay  of  hundreds,  when  every  one  else — even  those  most  pro- 
verbially prudent  and  sober — would  venture  their  thousands  with 
an  almost  absolute  certainty  of  tenfold  profits ;  and  again,  would 
fling  away  thousands  into  the  very  yawning  jaws  of  villany. 
He  would  not  tolerate  remonstrance  or  expostulation  ;  and,  when 
any  one  ventured  to  hint  surprize  or  dissatisfaction  at  the  con- 
duct he  was  pursuing,  he  wonld  say  tartly,  "  that  he  had  reasons 
of  his  own  for  what  he  was  doing."  His  brother  merchants 
were,  for  a  length  of  time,  puzzled  to  account  for  his  conduct. 
At  first,  they  gave  him  credit  for  playing  some  deep  and  despe- 
rate game,  and  trembled  at  his  hardihood ;  but,  after  waiting  a 
while,  and  perceiving  no 

■wondrous  issue 

Leapt  down  their  gaping  throats,  to  recompense 
Long  hours  of  patient  hope 

they  came  to  the  conclusion,  that,  as  he  had  been  latterly  unfor- 
tunate, and  was  growing  old,  and  indisposed  to  prolong  the 
doubtful  cares  of  money-making,  he  had  determined  to  draw  his 
affairs  into  as  narrow  a  compass  as  possible,  with  a  view  to  with- 


THE  RUINED  MERCHANT. CHAPTER  XXII.        427 

drawing  altogether  from  active  life,  on  a  handsome  indepen- 
dence. Every  one  commended  his  prudence  in  so  acting — "  in 
letting  well  alone."  "  Easy  come,  easy  go,"  is  an  old  saw,  but 
signally  characteristic  of  rapidly  acquired  commercial  fortunes  : 
and  by  these,  and  similar  prudential  considerations,  did  they 
consider  Mr  Dudleigh  to  be  actuated.  This  latter  supposition 
was  strengthened  by  observing  the  other  parts  of  his  conduct. 
Hisdomestic  arrangements  indicated  a  spirit  of  rigorous  retrench- 
ment. His  house  near  Richmond  was  advertised  for  sale,  and 
bought,  "  out  and  out,"  by  a  man  who  had  grown  rich  in  Mr 
Dudleigh's  service.  Mrs  Dudleigh  gave,  received,  and  accepted 
fewer  and  fewer  invitations  :  was  less  seen  at  public  places  ;  and 
drove  only  in  one  plain  chariot.  Young  Dudleigh's  allowance 
at  Oxford  was  curtailed,  and  narrowed  down  to  £300  a-year  ; 
and  he  was  forbidden  to  go  abroad,  that  he  might  stay  at  home 
to  prepare  for — orders  !  There  was  nothing  questionable  or 
alarming  in  all  this,  even  to  the  most  forward  quidnuncs  of  the 
city.  The  world  that  had  blazoned  and  lauded  his,  or  rather 
his  family  s  extravagance,  now  commended  his  judicious  eco- 
nomy. As  for  himself,  personally,  he  had  resumed  his  pristine 
clock-work  punctuality  of  movements ;  and  the  only  difference 
to  be  perceived  in  his  behaviour  was  an  air  of  unceasing  thought- 
fulness  and  reserve.  This  was  accounted  for,  by  the  rumoured 
unhappiness  he  endured  in  his  family — for  which  Mrs  Dudleigh 
was  given  ample  credit.  And  then  his  favourite — his  idolized 
child — Miss  Dudleigh — was  exhibiting  alarming  symptoms  of 
ill  health.  She  was  notoriously  neglected  by  her  young  and 
noble  suitor,  who  continued  abroad  much  longer  than  the  period 
he  had  himself  fixed  on.  She  was  of  too  delicate  and  sensitive 
a  character,  to  hear  with  indifference  the  impertinent  and  cruel 
speculations  which  this  occasioned  in  "  society."  When  I  looked 
at  her — her  beauty,  her  amiable  and  fascinating  manners,  her  high 
accomplishments — and,  in  many  conversations,  perceived  the 
superior  feelings  of  her  soul — it  was  with  difficulty  I  brought 
myself  to  believe  that  she  was  the  offspring  of  such  a  miserably 
inferior  woman  as  her  mother.  To  return,  however,  to  Mr 
Dudleigh  :  He  who  has  once  experienced  an  attack  of  apoplexy, 
ought  never  to  be  entirely  from  under  medical  surveillance.     I 


428  DIARY  or  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

was  in  the  habit  of  calling  upon  him  once  or  twice  a-week,  to 
ascertain  how  he  was  going  on.  I  observed  a  great  change  in 
him.  Though  never  distinguished  by  high  animal  spirits,  he 
seemed  now  under  the  influence  of  a  permanent  and  increasing 
melancholy.  When  I  would  put  to  him  some  such  matter-of- 
fact  question  as — "  How  goes  the  world  with  you  now,  Mr  Dud- 
leigh?"  he  would  reply  with  an  air  of  lassitude — 

"  Oh,  as  it  ought!  as  it  ought."  He  ceased  to  speak  of  his 
mercantile  transactions  with  spirit  or  energy  ;  and  it  was  only 
by  a  visible  effort  that  he  dragged  himself  into  the  city. 

When  a  man  is  once  on  the  inclined  plane  of  life — once  fairly 
"  going  down  hill" — one  push  will  do  as  much  as  fifty ;  and  such 
a  one  poor  Mr  Dudleigh  was  not  long  in  receiving.  Rumours 
were  already  flying  about,  that  his  credit  had  no  more  substantial 
support  than  paper  props ;  in  other  words,  that  he  was  obliged 
to  resort  to  accommodation  bills  to  meet  his  engagements. 
When  once  such  reports  are  current  and  accredited,  I  need 
hardly  say,  that  it  is  "  all  up"  with  a  man  in  the  city.  And 
ought  it  not  to  be  so  ?  I  observed,  a  little  while  ago,  that  Mr 
Dudleigh,  since  his  illness,  conducted  his  affairs  very  differently 
from  what  he  had  formerly.  He  would  freight  his  vessels  with 
unmarketable  cargoes,  in  spite  of  all  the  representations  of  his 
servants  and  friends  ;  and,  when  his  advices  confirmed  the  truth 
of  their  surmises,  he  would  order  the  goods  to  be  sold  off,  fre- 
quently at  a  fifth  or  eighth  of  their  value.  These,  and  many 
similar  freaks,  becoming  generally  known,  soon  alienated  from 
him  the  confidence  even  of  his  oldest  connexions  ;  credit  was 
given  him  reluctantly,  and  then  only  to  a  small  extent — and 
sometimes  even  point  blank  refused !  He  bore  all  this  with 
apparent  calmness,  observing  simply  that "  times  were  altered  !" 
Still  he  had  a  corps  de  reserve  in  his  favourite  investiture— mort- 
gages ;  a  species  of  security  in  which  he  long  had  locked  up  some 
forty  or  fifty  thousand  pounds.  Anxious  to  assign  a  mortgage 
for  £15,000,  he  had  at  last  succeeded  in  finding  an  assignee  on 
advantageous  terms,  whose  solicitor,  after  carefully  inspecting 
the  deed,  pronounced  it  so  much  waste  paper,  owing  to  some 
great  technical  flaw,  or  informality,  which  vitiated  the  whole ! 
Poor  Mr  Dudleigh  hurried  with  consternation  to  his  attorney ; 


THE  RUINED  MEKCHANT. CHAPTEE  XXII.  429 

who,  after  a  long  show  of  incredulity,  at  last  acknowledged  the 
existence  of  the  defect !  Under  his  advice,  Mr  Dudleigh  instantly 
wrote  to  the  party  whose  property  was  mortgaged,  frankly  in- 
forming him  of  the  circumstance,  and  appealing  to  his  "  honour 
and  good  feeling."  He  might  as  well  have  appealed  to  the  winds  ! 
for  he  received  a  reply  from  the  mortgager's  attorney,  stating 
simply,  that  "  his  client  was  prepared  to  stand  or  fall  by  the 
deed,  and  so,  of  course,  must  the  mortgager ! "  What  was  Mr 
Dudleigh's  utter  dismay  at  finding,  on  further  examination,  that 
every  mortgage  transaction — except  one  for  £1500 — which  had 
been  entrusted  to  the  management  of  the  same  attorney,  was 
equally,  or  even  more  invalid  than  the  one  above  mentioned !  Two 
of  the  heaviest  proved  to  be  worthless,  as  second  mortgages  of  the 
same  property,  and  all  the  remainder  were  invalid,  on  acccount 
of  divers  defects  and  informalities.  It  turned  out  that  Mr  Dud- 
leigh had  been  in  the  hands  of  a  swindler,  who  had  intentionally 
committed  the  draft  error,  and  colluded  with  his  principal,  to 
outwit  his  unsuspecting  client,  Mr  Dudleigh,  in  the  matter  of 
the  double  mortgages !  Mr  Dudleigh  instantly  commenced  actions 
against  the  first  mortgager,  to  recover  the  money  he  had  advanced, 
in  spite  of  the  flaw  in  the  mortgage  deed,  and  against  the  attor- 
ney through  whose  villany  he  had  suffered  so  severely.  In  the 
former — which,  of  course,  decided  the  fate  of  the  remaining 
mortgages  similarly  situated — he  failed ;  in  the  latter,  he  suc- 
ceeded, as  far  as  the  bare  gaining  of  a  verdict  could  be  so  con- 
sidered ;  but  the  attorney,  exasperated  at  being  brought  before 
the  court  and  exposed  by  his  client,  defended  the  action  in  such 
a  manner  as  did  himself  no  good,  at  the  same  time  that  it  nearly 
ruined  the  poor  plaintiff ;  for  he  raked  up  every  circumstance 
that  had  come  to  his  knowledge  professionally,  during  the  course 
of  several  years'  confidential  connexion  with  Mr  Dudleigh,  and 
which  could  possibly  be  tortured  into  a  disreputable  shape ;  and 
gave  his  foul  brief  into  the  hands  of  an  ambitious  young  counsel, 
who,  faithful  to  his  instructions,  and  eager  to  make  the  most  of 
so  rich  an  opportunity  of  vituperative  declamation,  contrived 
so  to  blacken  poor  Mr  Dudleigh's  character,  by  cunning,  cruel 
innuendoes,  asserting  nothing,  but  suggesting  every  thing  vile  and 
atrocious,  that  poor  Mr  Dudleigh,  who  was  in  court  at  the  time, 


430  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PKYSICIAN. 

began  to  think  himself,  in  spite  of  himself,  one  of  the  most  exe- 
crable scoundrels  in  existence ;  and  hurried  home  in  a  paroxysm 
of  rage,  agony,  and  despair,  which,  but  for  my  being  opportunely 
sent  for  by  Mrs  Dudleigh,  and  bleeding  him  at  once,  must,  in 
all  probability,  have  induced  a  second  and  fatal  apoplectic  seizure. 
His  energies,  for  weeks  afterwards,  lay  in  a  state  of  complete 
stagnation ;  and  I  found  he  was  sinking  into  the  condition  of 
an  irrecoverable  hypochondriac.  Every  thing,  from  that  time, 
went  wrong  with  him.  He  made  no  provision  for  the  payment 
of  his  regular  debts ;  creditors  precipitated  their  claims  from  all 
quarters ;  and  he  had  no  resources  to  fall  back  upon  at  a  moment's 
exigency.  Some  of  the  more  forbearing  of  his  creditors  kindly 
consented  to  give  him  time,  but  the  small  fry  pestered  him  to 
distraction ;  and  at  last,  one  of  the  latter  class,  a  rude,  hard- 
hearted fellow,  cousin  to  the  attorney  whom  Mr  Dudleigh  had 
recently  prosecuted,  on  receiving  the  requisite  "  denial,"  instantly 
went  and  struck  the  docket  against  his  unfortunate  debtor,  and 
Mr  Dudleigh — the  celebrated  Mr  Dudleigh — became  a  Bank- 
rupt ! 

For  some  hours  after  he  had  received  an  official  notification 
of  the  event,  he  seemed  completely  stunned.  He  did  not  utter 
a  syllable  when  first  informed  of  it ;  but  his  face  assumed  a 
ghastly  paleness.  He  walked  to  and  fro  about  the  room — now 
pausing — then  hurrying  on — then  pausing  again,  striking  his 
hands  on  his  forehead,  and  exclaiming,  with  an  abstracted  and 
incredulous  air — "  A  bankrupt !  a  bankrupt !  Henry  Dudleigh 
a  bankrupt!  What  are  they  saying  on  'Change  ?"  In  subse- 
quently describing  to  me  his  feelings  at  this  period,  he  said  he 
felt  as  though  he  had  "  fallen  into  his  grave  for  an  hour  or  two, 
aiid  come  out  again  cold  and  stupefied." 

While  he  was  in  this  state  of  mind,  his  daughter  entered  the 
room,  wan  and  trembling  with  agitation. 

"Mydearlittlelove,  what's  wrong?  What's  wrong,  eh  ?  WTiat 
has  dashed  you,  my  sweet  flower,  eh  ?"  said  he,  folding  her  in 
his  arms,  and  hugging  her  to  his  breast.  He  led  her  to  a  seat, 
and  placed  her  on  his  knee.  He  passed  his  hand  over  her  pale 
forehead.  "  What  have  you  been  about  to-day,  Agnes  ?  You've 
forgotten  to  dress  your  hair  to-day,"  taking  her  raven  tresses  in 


THE  EUINED  MERCHANT CHAFTER  XXII.  431 

his  fingers—"  Come,  these  must  be  cm-led  !  They  are  all  damp, 
love !     What  makes  you  cry  ?  " 

"  My  dear,  dear,  dear,  darlings  father!"  sobbed  the  agonized 
girl,  almost  choked  with  her  emotions— clasping  her  arms  con- 
vulsively round  his  neck—"  I  love  you  dearer— a  thousand  times 
— than  I  ever  loved  you  in  my  life  ! " 

"  My  sweet  love ! "  he  exclaimed,  bursting  into  tears.  Neither 
of  them  spoke  for  several  minutes. 

"  You  are  young,  Agnes,  and  may  be  happy — ^but  as  for  me, 
I  am  an  old  tree,  whose  roots  are  rotten  !  The  blasts  have 
beaten  me  down,  my  darling  !"  She  clung  closer  to  him,  but 
spoke  not.  "  Agnes,  will  you  stay  with  me,  now  that  I'm  made 
a— a  beggar  ?  Will  you  ?  I  can  love  you  yet— but  that's  all ! " 
said  he,  staring  vacantly  at  her.  After  a  pause,  he  suddenly 
teleased  her  from  his  knee,  rose  from  his  seat,  and  walked  hur- 
riedly about  the  room. 

"  Agnes,  love !  Why,  is  it  true — is  it  really  true  that  I'm 
made  a  bankrupt  of,  after  all  ?  And  is  it  come  to  that  ?  "  lie 
resumed  his  seat,  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and  wept  like 
a  child.  "  'Tis  for  you.,  my  darling — for  my  family — my  chil- 
dren, that  I  grieve  !  What  is  to  become  of  you  ?  "  Again  he 
paused.  "  Well !  it  cannot  be  helped — it  is  more  my  misfortune 
than  my  fault !  God  knows,  I've  tried  to  pay  my  way  as  I  went 
on — and — and — no,  no  !  it  doesn't  follow  that  every  man  is  a 
villain  that's  a  bankrupt !" 

"  No,  no,  no,  father ! "  replied  his  daughter,  again  flinging  her 
arms  round  his  neck,  and  kissing  him  with  passionate  fondness, 
"  your  honour  is  untouched — it  is  " 

"  Ay,  love — ^but  to  make  the  world  think  so — There's  the 
rub!  Wliat  has  been  said  on  'Change  to-day,  Agnes?  That's 
what  hurts  me  to  my  soul!" 

*  *  *  "Come,  father,  be  calm!  We  shall  yet  be  happy 
and  quiet,  after  this  little  breeze  has  blown  over !  Oh,  yes,  yes, 
father!  We  will  remove  to  a  nice  little  comfortable  house,  and 
live  among  ourselves!" 

"  But,  Agnes,  can  tou  do  all  this  ?  Can  you  make  up  your 
mind  to  live  in  a  lower  rank — to — to — to  be,  in  a  manner,  your 
own  servant?" 


432  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

"  Yes,  God  knows,  I  can!  Father,  I'd  rather  be  your  servant- 
girl  than  wife  of  the  king ! "  replied  the  poor  girl  with  enthu- 
siasm. 

"  Oh,  my  daughter! — Come,  come,  let  us  go  into  the  next 
room,  and  do  you  play  me  my  old  favourite — '  O  Nanny,  wilt  thou 
gang  wV  me.'  You'll  feel  it,  Agnes!"  He  led  her  into  an  ad- 
joining room,  and  set  her  down  at  the  instrument,  and  stood  by 
her  side. 

"  We  must  not  part  with  this  piano,  my  love — must  we  ? " 
said  she,  putting  her  arms  round  his  neck — "  we'll  try  and  have 
it  saved  from  the  wreck  of  our  furniture!"  She  commenced 
playing  the  tune  he  had  requested,  and  went  through  it. 

"Sing,  love — sing!"  said  her  father.  "I  love  the  words  as 
much  as  the  music !  Would  you  cheat  me,  you  little  rogue?" 
She  made  him  no  reply,  but  went  on  playing,  very  irregularly, 
however. 

"  Come !  you  must  sing,  Agnes !" 

"  I  can't ! "  she  murmured.     "  My  heart  is  breaking !     My — 

my — bro "  and  fell  fainting  into  the  arms  of  her  father. 

He  rang  instantly  for  assistance.  In  carrying  her  from  the 
music-stool  to  the  sofa,  an  open  letter  dropped  from  her  bosom. 
Mr  Dudleigh  hastily  picked  it  up,  and  saw  that  the  direction 
was  in  the  handwriting  of  his  «om,  and  bore  the  "Wapping" 
post-mark.  The  stunning  contents  were  as  follows : — "  My 
dear,  dear,  dear  Agnes,  farewell! — it  may  be  y^r  ever!  I  fly 
from  my  country  !  While  you  are  reading  this  note,  I  am  on 
my  way  to  America.  Do  not  call  me  cruel,  my  sweet  sister, 
for  my  heart  is  broken ! — broken  !  Yesterday,  near  Oxford,  I 
fought  with  a  man  who  dared  to  insult  me  about  our  family 
troubles.  I  am  afraid — God  forgive  me — that  I  have  killed 
him !  Agnes,  Agnes,  the  bloodhounds  are  after  me !  Even  were 
they  not,  I  could  not  bear  to  look  on  my  poor  father,  whom  I 
have  helped  to  ruin,  under  the  encouragement  of  one  who  might 
have  bred  me  better !  I  cannot  stay  in  England,  for  I  have 
lost  my  station  in  society ;  I  owe  thousands  I  can  never  repay ; 
besides,  Agnes,  Agnes !  the  bloodhounds  are  after  me !  I 
scarcely  know  what  I  am  saying  !  Break  all  this  to  my  father 
• — my  wretched  father — as  gradually  as  you  can.     Do  not  let 


THE  RUINED  MERCHANT. CHAPTER  XXII.  433 

him  know  of  it  for  a  fortnight^  at  least.  May  God  be  your 
friend,  my  dear  Agnes !  Pray  for  me !  pray  for  me,  my  dar- 
ling Agnes  ! — yes,  for  me,  your  wretched,  guilty,  heart-broken 
brother !— H.  D." 

"  Ah !  he  might  have  done  worse — he  might  have  done 
worse ! "  exclaimed  the  stupefied  father.  "  Well,  I  must  think 
about  it ! "  and  he  calmly  folded  up  the  letter  to  put  it  into  his 
pocket-book,  when  his  daughter's  eye  caught  sight  of  it,  for 
she  had  recovered  from  her  swoon  while  he  was  reading  it ;  and 
with  a  faint  shriek,  and  a  frantic  effort  to  snatch  it  from  him, 
she  fell  back,  and  swooned  again.  Even  all  this  did  not  rouse 
Mr  Dudleigh.  He  sat  still,  gazing  on  his  daughter  with  a 
vacant  stare,  and  did  not  make  the  slightest  effort  to  assist  her 
recovery.  I  was  summoned  in  to  attend  her,  for  she  was  so  iU 
that  they  carried  her  up  to  bed. 

Poor  girl ! — poor  Agnes  Dudleigh ! — already  had  consump- 
tion marked  her  for  his  own!  The  reader  may  possibly 
recollect  that,  in  a  previous  part  of  this  narrative.  Miss  Dud- 
leigh was  represented  to  be  affianced  to  a  young  nobleman.  I 
need  hardly,  I  suppose,  inform  him  that  the  "affair"  was  "all 

off,"  as  soon  as  ever  Lord heard  of  her  fallen  fortunes. 

To  do  him  justice,  he  behaved  in  the  business  with  perfect 
poUteness  and  condescension  ;  wrote  to  her  from  Italy,  carefully 
returning  her  all  her  letters  ;  spoke  of  her  admirable  qualities  in 
the  handsomest  strain;  and,  in  choice  and  feeling  language, 
regretted  the  altered  state  of  his  affections,  and  that  the  "  fates 
had  ordained  their  separation."   A  few  months  afterwards,  the 

estranged  couple  met  casually  in  Hyde  Park,  and  Lord  

passed  Miss  Dudleigh  with  a  strange  stare  of  irrecognition, 
that  showed  the  advances  he  had  made  in  the  command  of  man- 
ner !  She  had  been  really  attached  to  him,  for  he  was  a  young 
man  of  handsome  appearance,  and  elegant  winning  manners. 
The  only  things  he  wanted  were  a  head  and  a  heart.  This  cir- 
cumstance, added  to  the  perpetual  harassment  of  domestic 
sorrows,  had  completely  undermined  her  delicate  constitution ; 
and  her' brother's  conduct  prostrated  the  few  remaining  energies 

that  were  left  her. 

,  2  E 


434  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

But  Mrs  Dudleigh  has  latterly  slipped  from  our  observation. 
I  have  little  more  to  say  about  her.  Aware  that  her  own 
infamous  conduct  had  conduced  to  her  husband's  ruin,  she  had 
resigned  herself  to  the  incessant  lashings  of  remorse,  and  was 
wasting  away  daily.  Her  excesses  had  long  before  sapped  her 
constitution,  and  she  was  now  little  else  than  a  walking  skele- 
ton. She  sat  moping  in  her  bedroom  for  hours  together,  taking 
little  or  no  notice  of  what  happened  about  her,  and  manifesting 
no  interest  in  life.  When,  however,  she  heard  of  her  son's  fate — 
the  only  person  on  earth  she  really  loved — the  intelligence 
smote  her  finally  down.  She  never  recovered  from  the  stroke. 
The  only  words  she  uttered,  after  hearing  of  his  departure  for 
America,  were,  "  Wretched  woman ! — guilty  mother ! — I  have 
done  it  all ! "  The  serious  iUness  of  her  poor  daughter  affected 
her  scarcely  at  all.  She  would  sit  at  her  bedside,  and  pay  her 
every  attention  in  her  power ;  but  it  was  rather  in  the  spirit 
and  manner  of  a  hired  nurse  than  a  mother. 

To  return,  however,  to  the  "  chief  mourner" — Mr  Dudleigh. 
The  attorney,  whom  he  had  sued  for  his  villany  in  the  mortgage 
transactions,  contrived  to  get  appointed  solicitor  to  the  com- 
mission of  bankruptcy  sued  out  against  Mr  Dudleigh ;  and  he 
enhanced  the  bitterness  and  agony  incident  to  the  judicial  pro- 
ceedings he  was  employed  to  conduct,  by  the  cruelty  and  inso- 
lence of  his  demeanour.  He  would  not  allow  the  slightest 
indulgence  to  the  poor  bankrupt,  whom  he  was  selling  out  of 
house  and  home,  but  remorselessly  seized  on  every  atom  of 
goods  and  furniture  the  law  allowed  him,  and  put  the  heart- 
broken, helpless  family  to  all  the  inconvenience  his  malice  could 
suggest.  His  conduct  was,  throughout,  mean,  tyrannical — • 
even  diabolical,  in  its  contemptuous  disregard  of  the  best  feel- 
ings of  human  nature.  Mr  Dudleigh's  energies  were  too  much 
exhausted  to  admit  of  remonstrance  or  resistance.  The  only 
evidence  he  gave  of  smarting  under  the  man's  insolence  was, 
after  enduring  an  outrageous  violation  of  his  domestic  privacy — 
a  cruel  interference  with  the  few  conveniences  of  his  dying 
daughter  and  sick  wife — when  he  suddenly  touched  the  attor- 
ney's arm,  and  in  a  low,  broken  tone  of  voice,  said — "  Mr , 


THE  RUINED  MERCHANT, CHAPTER  XXn.         435 

1  am  a  poor,  heart-broken  man,  and  have  no  one  to  avenge  me, 
or  you  would  not  dare  to  do  this ; "  and  he  turned  away  in  tears. 

The  house  and  furniture  in Square,  with  every  other  item 

of  property  that  was  available,  being  disposed  of,  on  winding  up 
the  aflPairs,  it  proved  that  the  creditors  could  obtain  a  dividend 
of  about  fifteen  shillings  in  the  pound.  So  convinced  were  they 
of  the  unimpeaehed,  the  unimpeachable  integrity  of  the  poor 
bankrupt,  that  they  not  only  spontaneously  released  him  from 
all  future  claims,  but  entered  into  a  subscription,  amounting  to 
£2000,  which  they  put  into  his  hands  for  the  purpose  of  enabling 
him  to  recommence  housekeeping  on  a  small  scale,  and  obtain 
some  permanent  means  of  livelihood.  Under  their  advice,  or 
rather  direction — for  he  was  passive  as  an  infant — he  removed 
to  a  small  house  in  Chelsea,  and  commenced  business  as  a  coal 
merchant,  or  agent  for  the  sab  of  coals,  in  a  smaU  and  poor  way, 
it  may  be  supposed.  His  new  house  was  very  small,  but  neat, 
convenient,  and  situated  in  a  quiet  and  creditable  street.  Yes, 
in  a  little  one-storied  house,  with  about  eight  square  feet  of 
garden  frontage,  resided  the  once  wealthy  and  celebrated  Mr 
Dudleigh ! 

The  very  first  morning  after  Mrs  Dudleigh  had  been  removed 
to  her  new  quarters,  she  was  found  dead  in  her  bed ;  for  the 
fatigues  of  changing  her  residence,  added  to  the  remorse  and 
chagrin  which  had  so  long  preyed  upon  her  mind,  had  extin- 
guished the  last  spark  of  her  vital  energies.  When  I  saw 
her,  which  was  not  till  the  evening  of  the  second  day  after 
her  decease,  she  was  lying  in  her  coffin ;  and  I  shall  not  soon 
forget  the  train  of  instructive  reflections  elicited  by  the  spec- 
tacle. Poor  creature,  her  features  looked  indeed  haggard 
and  grief- worn !  Mr  Dudleigh  wept  over  her  remains  like  a 
child,  and  kissed  the  cold  lips  and  hands  with  the  liveliest 
transports  of  regret.  At  length  came  the  day  of  the  funeral, 
as  plain  and  unpretending  a  one  as  could  be.  At  the  pressing 
solicitations  of  Mr  Dudleigh,  I  attended  her  remains  to  the 
grave.  It  was  an  affecting  thought,  that  the  daughter  was 
left  dying  in  the  house  from  which  her  mother  was  carried  out 
to  burial.     Mr  Dudleigh  went  through  the  whole  of  the  melan- 


436  BIABT  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

choly  ceremony  with  a  calmness — and  even  cheerfulness — which 
surprised  me.  He  did  not  betray  any  emotion  when  leaving  the 
ground ;  except  turning  to  look  into  the  grave,  and  exclaiming 
rather  faintly — "  Well — here  we  leave  you,  poor  wife  ! "  On  our 
return  home,  about  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  he  begged  to 
be  left  alone  for  a  few  minutes,  with  pen,  ink,  and  paper,  as  he 
had  some  important  letters  to  write ;  and  requested  me  to  wait 
for  him  in  Miss  Dadleigh's  room,  where  he  would  rejoin  me, 
and  accompany  me  part  of  my  way  up  to  town.  I  repaired, 
therefore,  to  Miss  Dudleigh's  chamber.  She  was  sitting  up,  and 
dressed  in  mourning.  The  marble  paleness  of  her  even  then 
beautiful  features,  was  greatly  enhanced  by  contrast  with  the 
deep  black  drapery  she  wore.  She  reminded  me  of  the  snow- 
drop she  had  an  hour  or  two  before  laid  on  the  pall  of  her  mo- 
ther's coffin  !  Her  beauty  was  fast  withering  away  under  the 
blighting  influence  of  sorrow  and  disease !  She  reclined  in  an 
easy-chair,  her  head  leaning  on  her  small  snowy  hand,  the  taper 
fingers  of  which  were  half  concealed  beneath  her  dark,  cluster- 
ing, uncurled  tresses — 

"  Like  a  white  rose,  glistening  'mid  evening  gloom." 

"  How  did  he  bear  it  ?"  she  whispered,  with  a  profound  sigh,  as 
soon  as  I  had  taken  my  place  beside  her.  I  told  her  that  he  had 
gone  through  the  whole  with  more  calmness  and  fortitude  than 
could  have  been  expected.  "  Ah  ! — 'tis  unnatural !  He's  grown 
strangely  altered  within  these  last  few  days,  doctor  !  He  never 
seems  to  feel  any  thing  !  His  troubles  have  stunned  his  heart, 
I'm  afraid  !  Don't  you  think  he  looks  altered  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  love,  he  is  thinner,  certainly." 

"  Ah — his  hair  is  white !  He  is  old — he  won't  be  long  behind 
us!" 

"  I  hope,  that,  now  he  is  freed  from  the  cares  and  distractions 
of  business" 

"  Doctor,  is  the  grave  deep  enough  for  three  ?"  enquired  the 
poor  girl  abruptly,  as  if  she  had  not  heard  me  speaking.  "  Our 
family  has  been  strangely  desolated,  doctor — has  not  it  ?  My 
mother  gone;  the  daughter  on  her  deathbed ;  the  father  wretched, 


THE  KUrNED  MEBCHANT. CHAPTER  XXII.  437 

and  ruined  ;  the  son — flown  from  his  country — perhaps  dead,  or 

dying !  But  it  has  all  been  our  own  fault" 

"  You  have  nothing  to  accuse  yourself  of,  Miss  Dudleigh," 
said  I.  She  shook  her  head,  and  burst  into  tears.  This  was 
the  melancholy  vein  of  our  conversation,  when  Mr  Dudleigh 
made  his  appearance,  in  his  black  gloves  and  crape-covered  hat, 
holding  two  letters  in  his  hand. 

"  Come,  doctor,"  said  he,  rather  brisklj',  "  you've  a  long  walk 
before  you  !  I'll  accompany  you  part  of  the  way,  as  I  have  some 
letters  to  put  into  the  post." 

"  Oh,  don't  trouble  yourself  about  that,  Mr  Dudleigh !  Til 
put  them  into  the  post,  as  I  go  by." 

"  No,  no — thank  you — thank  you,"  he  interrupted  me,  with 
rather  an  embarrassed  air,  I  thought ;  "  I've  several  other  little 
matters  to  do,  and  we  had  better  be  starting."  I  rose,  and  took 
my  leave  of  Miss  Dudleigh.  Her  father  put  his  arms  round 
her  neck,  and  kissed  her  very  fondly.  "  Keep  up  your  spirits, 
Agnes ! — and  see  and  get  into  bed  as  soon  as  possible,  for  you 
are  quite  exhausted."  He  walked  towards  the  door.  "  Oh,  bless 
your  little  heart,  my  love  !"  said  he,  suddenly  returning  to  her, 
and  kissing  her  more  fondly,  if  possible,  than  before.  "  We  shall 
not  be  apart  long,  I  dare  say  ! " 

We  set  off  on  our  walk  towards  town;  and  Mr  Dudleigh 
conversed  with  great  calmness,  speaking  of  his  affairs,  even  in 
an  encouraging  tone.     At  length  we  separated.     "  Bemember 

me  kindly  to  Mrs ,"  said  he,  mentioning  my  wife's  name, 

and  shaking  me  warmly  by  the  hand. 

The  next  morning,  as  I  sat  at  breakfast,  making  out  my  daily 
list,  my  wife,  who  had  one  of  the  morning  papers  in  her  hand, 
suddenly  let  it  fall,  and  looking  palely  at  me,  exclaimed — "  Oh, 
surely— surely,  my  dear,  this  can  never  be^Mr  Dudleigh ; "  I 
enquired  what  she  meant,  and  she  pointed  out  the  following 
paragraph  : — 

"  Attempted  Suicide. — Yesterday  evening,  an  elderly  gentle- 
man, dressed  in  deep  mourning,  was  observed  walking  for  some 
time  near  the  water-side,  a  little  above  Chelsea-Reach,  and  pre- 
sently stepped  on  board  one  of  the  barges,  and  threw  himself 


438  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

from  the  outer  one  into  the  river.  Most  providentially  this 
latter  movement  was  seen  by  a  boatman  who  was  rowing  past, 
and  who  succeeded,  after  some  minutes,  in  seizing  hold  of  the 
unfortunate  person,  and  lifting  him  into  the  boat — but  not  till 
the  vital  spark  seemed  extinct.  He  was  immediately  carried  to 
the  public-house  by  the  water-side,  where  prompt  and  judicious 
means  were  made  use  of — and  with  success.     He  is  now  lying 

at  the public-house ;  but  as  there  were  no  papers  or  cards 

about  him,  his  name  is  at  present  unknown.  The  unfortunate 
gentleman  is  of  middling  stature — rather  full  made — of  advan- 
ced years — his  hair  very  grey,  and  he  wears  a  mourning  ring  on 
his  left  hand." 

I  rang  the  bell,  ordered  a  coach,  drew  on  my  boots,  and  put 
on  my  walking  dress ;  and,  in  a  little  more  than  three  or  four 
minutes,  was  hurrying  on  my  way  to  the  house  mentioned  in 
the  newspaper.  A  twopenny  postman  had  the  knocker  in  his 
hand  at  the  moment  of  my  opening  the  door,  and  put  into  my 
hand  a  paid  letter,  which  I  tore  open  as  I  drove  along.  Good 
God!  it  was  from  Mr  Dudleigh,  it  afforded  unequivocal  evi- 
dence of  the  insanity  which  led  him  to  attempt  his  life.  It  was 
written  in  a  most  extravagant  and  incongruous  strain,  and 
acquainted  me  with  the  writer's  intention  to  "  bid  farewell  to 
his  troubles  that  evening."  It  ended  with  informing  me,  that  I 
was  left  a  legacy  in  his  will  for  £5000 — and  hoping  that,  when 
his  poor  daughter  died,  "  I  would  see  her  magnificently  buried." 
By  the  time  I  had  arrived  at  the  house  where  he  lay,  I  was 
almost  fainting  with  agitation ;  and  I  was  compelled  to  wait 
some  minutes  below,  before  I  could  sufficiently  recover  my  self- 
possession.  On  entering  the  bedroom  where  he  lay,  I  found 
him  undressed,  and  fast  asleep.  There  was  no  appearance 
whatever  of  discomposure  in  the  features.  His  hands  were 
clasped  closely  together ;  and  in  that  position  he  had  continued 
for  several  hours.  The  medical  man  who  had  been  summoned 
in  overnight,  sat  at  his  bedside,  and  informed  me  that  his  patient 
was  going  on  as  well  as  could  be  expected.  The  treatment  he 
had  adopted  had  been  very  judicious  and  successful ;  and  I  had 
no  doubt  that,  when  next  Mr  Dudleigh  awoke,  he  would  feel 


THE  KDINED    MERCHANT. CHAPTER  XXII.  439 

little,  if  any,  the  worse  for  what  he  had  suffered.  All  my  thoughts 
were  now  directed  to  Miss  Dadleigh  ;  for  I  felt  sure  that,  if  the 
intelligence  had  found  its  way  to  her,  it  must  have  destroyed 
her.  I  ran  every  inch  of  the  distance  between  the  two  houses, 
and  knocked  gently  at  the  door  with  my  knuckles,  that  I  might 
not  disturb  Miss  Dudleigh.  The  servant-girl,  seeing  my  dis- 
composed appearance,  would  have  created  a  disturbance,  by 
shrieking,  or  making  some  other  noise,  had  I  not  placed  my 
fingers  on  her  mouth,  and  in  a  whisper,  asked  how  her  mistress 
was?  "Master  went  home  with  you,  sir,  did  not  he?"  she 
enquired,  with  an  alarmed  air. 

"  Yes — yes ; "  I  replied  hastily. 

"  Oh,  I  told  Miss  so !  I  told  her  so ! "  replied  the  girl,  clasp- 
ing her  hands,  and  breathing  freer. 

"  Oh,  she  has  been  uneasy  about  his  not  coming  home  last 
night — eh? — Ah — I  thought  so  this  morning,  and  that  is 
what  has  brought  me  here  in  such  a  hurry,"  said  I,  as  calmly 
as  I  could.  After  waiting  down  stairs  to  recover  my  breath  a 
little,  I  repaired  to  Miss  Dudleigh's  room.  She  was  awake. 
The  moment  I  entered  she  started  up  in  bed— her  eyes  strain- 
ing, and  her  arms  stretched  towards  me. 

"  My — my — father ! " she  gasped  ;    and,  before   I   could 

open  my  lips,  or  even  reach  her  side,  she  had  fallen  back  in  bed, 
and,  as  I  thought,  expired.  She  had  swooned :  and,  during  the 
whole  course  of  my  experience,  I  never  saw  a  swoon  so  long 
and  closely  resemble  death.  For  more  than  an  hour  the  nurse, 
servant-girl,  and  I,  hung  over  her  in  agonizing  and  breathless 
suspense,  striving  to  detect  her  breath — which  made  no  impres- 
sion whatever  on  the  glass  I  from  time  to  time  held  over  her 
mouth.  Her  pulse  fluttered  and  fluttered — feebler  and  feebler 
— till  I  could  not  perceive  that  it  beat  at  all.  "  Well!"  thought 
I,  at  last  removing  my  fingers,  "you  are  gone,  sweet  Agnes 
Dudleigh,  from  a  world  that  has  but  few  as  fair  and  good ! " — 
when  a  slight  undulation  of  the  breast,  accompanied  by  a  faint 
sigh,  indicated  slowly  returning  consciousness.  Her  breath 
came  again,  short  and  faint ;  but  she  did  not  open  her  eyes  for 
some  time  after.  * 


440  DlARy  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

"  Well,  my  sweet  girl,"  said  I,  presently  observing  her  eyes 
fixed  steadfastly  on  me ;  "  why  all  this  ?  What  has  happened  ? 
What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  "  and  I  clasped  her  cold  fingers 
in  my  hand.  By  placing  my  ear  so  close  to  her  lips  that  it  touched 
them,  I  distinguished  the  sound — "  My  fa — father!" 

"Well !  and  what  of  your  father  ?  He  is  just  as  usual,  and 
sends  his  love  to  you."  Her  eyes,  as  it  were,  dilated  on  me  ; 
her  breath  came  quicker  and  stronger,  and  her  frame  vibrated 
with  emotion.  "  He  is  coming  home  shortly,  by — by — -foxsr 
o'clock  this  afternoon— yes,  four  o'clock  at  the  latest.  Thinking 
that  a  change  of  scene  might  revive  his  spirits,  I  prevailed  on 
him  last  night  to  walk  on  with  me  home — and — and  he  slept  at  my 
house."  She  did  not  attempt  to  speak,  but  her  eye  continued 
fixed  on  me  with  an  unwavering  look  that  searched  my  very 
soul !  "  My  wife  and  Mr  Dudleigh  will  drive  down  together," 
I  continued  firmly,  though  my  heart  sank  within  me  at  the 
thought  of  the  improbability  of  such  being  the  case ;  "  and  I 
shall  return  here  by  the  time  they  arrive,  and  meet  them. 
Come,  come.  Miss  Dudleigh — this  is  weak — absurd  ! "  said  I, 
observing  that  what  I  said  seemed  to  make  no  impression  on 
her.  I  ordered  some  port-wine  and  water  to  be  brought,  and 
forced  a  few  tea-spoonfuls  into  her  mouth.  They  revived  her, 
and  I  gave  her  more.  In  a  word,  she  rapidly  recovered  from  the 
state  of  uttermost  exhaustion  into  which  she  had  fallen ;  and, 

before  I  left,  she  said  solemnly  to  me,  "  Doctor !  if — ip 

you  have  deceived  me! — if  any  thing  dreadful  has  really — 
really  " 

I  left,  half  distracted  to  think  of  the  impossibility  of  fulfilling 
the  promise  I  had  made  her,  as  well  as  of  accounting  satisfac- 
torily for  not  doing  so.  What  could  I  do  ?  I  drove  rapidly 
homewards,  and  requested  my  wife  to  hurry  down  immediately 
to  Miss  Dudleigh,  and  pacify  her  with  saying  that  her  father 
was  riding  round  with  me,  for  the  sake  of  exercise,  and  that  we 
should  come  to  her  together.  I  then  hurried  through  my  few  pro- 
fessional calls,  and  repaired  to  Mr  Dudleigh.  To  my  unutterable 
joy  and  astonishment,  I  found  him  up  dressed — for  his  clothes 
had  been  drying  all  night — and  sitting  quietly  by  the  fire,  ia 


T!1E  EUINBD  MERCHANT. CHAPTER  XXII.  441 

company  with  the  medical  man.  His  appearance  exhibited  no 
traces  whatever  of  the  accident  which  had  befallen  him.  But, 
alas  !  on  looking  close  at  him — on  examining  his  features — Oh, 
that  eye !  that  smile !  they  told  me  of  departed  reason  !  I  was 
gazing  on  an  idiot !  O  God !  What  was  to  become  of  Miss 
Dudleigh?  How  was  I  to  bring  father  and  daughter  face  to 
face  ?  My  knees  smote  together,  while  I  sat  beside  him !  But 
it  must  be  done,  or  Miss  Dudleigh's  life  would  be  the  forfeit! 
The  only  project  I  could  hit  upon  for  disguising  the  frightful 
state  of  the  ease,  was  to  hint  to  Miss  Dudleigh,  if  she  perceived 
any  thing  wild  or  unusual  in  his  demeanour,  that  he  was  a  little 
flustered  with  wine  !  But  what  a  circumstance  to  communicate 
to  the  dying  girl.  And,  even  if  it  succeeded,  what  would  ensue 
on  the  next  morning.  Would  it  be  safe  to  leave  him  with  her  ? 
I  was  perplexed  and  confounded  between  all  these  painful  con- 
jectures and  difficulties ! 

He  put  on  his  hat  and  great-coat,  and  we  got  into  my  chariot 
together.  He  was  perfectly  quiet  and  gentle,  conversed  on 
indifferent  subjects,  and  spoke  of  having  had  "  a  cold  bath"  last 
night,  which  had  done  him  much  good  !  My  heart  grew  heavier 
and  heavier  as  we  neared  the  home  where  I  was  to  bring  her 
idiot  father  to  Miss  Dudleigh!  I  felt  sick  with  agitation,  as 
we  descended  the  carriage  steps. 

But  I  was  for  some  time  happily  disappointed.  He  entered 
her  room  v/ith  eagerness,  ran  up  to  her  and  kissed  her  with  his 
usual  affectionate  energy.  She  held  him  in  her  arms  for  some 
time,  exclaiming — "  Oh,  father,  father  !  How  glad  I  am  to  see 
you !  I  thought  some  accident  had  happened  to  you  !  Why  did 

you  not  tell  me  that  you  were  going  home  with  Dr ?  "  My 

wife  and  I  trembled,  and  looked  at  each  other  despairingly. 

"  Why,"  replied  her  father,  sitting  down  beside  her,  "you  see, 
my  love,  Dr recommended  me  a  cold  bath." 

"  A  cold  hath  at  this  time  of  the  year ! "  exclaimed  Miss 
Dudleigh,  looking  at  me  with  astonishment.  I  smiled  with  ill- 
assumed  nonchalance. 

"  It  is  very  advantageous  at — at — even  this  season  of  the 
year,"  I  stammered,  for  I  observed  Miss  Dudleigh's  eye  fixed  oa 
me  like  a  ray  of  hghtning. 


442  DIAET  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

"  Yes ;  but  they  ought  to  have  taken  off  my  clothes  Jij-st"  said 
Mr  Dudleigh,  with  a  shuddering  motion.  His  daughter  sud- 
denly laid  her  hand  on  him,  uttered  a  faint  shriek,  and  fell  back 
in  her  bed  in  a  swoon.  The  dreadful  scene  of  the  morning  was 
all  acted  over  again.  I  think  I  should  have  rejoiced  to  see  her 
expire  on  the  spot ;  but  no !  Providence  had  allotted  her  a  fur- 
ther space,  that  she  might  drain  the  cup  of  sorrow  to  the  dregs  ! 
******* 

Tuesday,  ISth  July  18 — . — I  am  still  in  attendance  on  poor 
unfortunate  Miss  Dudleigh.  The  scenes  I  have  to  encounter 
are  often  anguishing,  and  even  heart-breaking.  She  lingers  on 
day  after  day,  and  week  after  week,  in  increasing  pain !  By  the 
bedside  of  the  dying  girl  sits  the  figure  of  an  elderly  grey-haired 
man,  dressed  in  neat  and  simple  mourning — now  gazing  into 
vacancy  with  "  lack-lustre  eye  " — and  then  suddenly  kissing  her 
hand  with  childish  eagerness,  and  chattering  mere  gibberish  to 
her !  It  is  her  idiot  father  !  Yes,  he  proves  an  irrecoverable 
idiot — but  is  uniformly  quiet  and  inoffensive.  We  at  first  in- 
tended to  have  sent  him  to  a  neighbouring  private  institution  for 
the  reception  of  the  insane ;  but  poor  Miss  Dudleigh  would  not 
hear  of  it,  and  threatened  to  destroy  herself  if  her  father  was 
removed.  She  insisted  on  his  being  allowed  to  continue  with 
her,  and  consented  that  a  proper  person  should  be  in  constant 
attendance  on  him.  She  herself  could  manage  him,  she  said ; 
and  so  it  proved.  He  is  a  mere  child  in  her  hands.  If  ever  he 
is  inclined  to  be  mischievous  or  obstreperous — which  is  very  sel- 
dom— if  she  do  but  say,  "  hush ! "  or  lift  up  h«r  trembling  finger, 
or  fix  her  eye  upon  him  reprovingly,  he  is  instantly  cowed,  and 
runs  up  to  her  to  "  kiss  and  be  friends."  He  often  falls  down 
on  his  knees,  when  he  thinks  he  has  offended  her,  and  cries  like 
a  child.  She  will  not  trust  him  out  of  her  sight  for  more  than  a 
few  moments  together,  except  when  he  retires  with  his  guardian, 
to  rest :  and,  indeed,  he  shows  as  little  inclination  to  leave  her. 
The  nurse's  situation  is  almost  a  sort  of  sinecure ;  for  the  anxious 
ofBciousness  of  Mr  Dudleigh  leaves  her  little  to  do.  He  alone 
gives  his  daughter  her  medicine  and  food,  and  does  so  with  ex- 
quisite gentleness  and  tenderness.     He  has  no  notion  of  her  real 


THE  RUINED  >tERCHANT.^CHAPTER  XXU.  443 

state,  that  she  is  dying ;  and,  finding  that  she  could  not  succeed 
in  her  efiForts  gradually  to  apprize  him  of  the  event,  which  he 
always  turned  off  with  a  smile  of  incredulity,  she  gives  in  to  his 
humour,  and  tells  him — poor  girl ! — that  she  is  getting  better  \ 
He  has  taken  it  into  his  head  that  she  is  to  be  married  to  Lord 

as  soon  as  she  recovers,  and  talks  with  high  glee  of  the 

magnificent  repairs  going  on  at  his  former  house  in Square ! 

He  always  accompanies  me  to  the  door ;  and  sometimes  writes 
me  cheques  for  L.50,  which,  of  course,  is  a  delusion  only,  as  he 
has  no  banker,  and  few  funds  to  put  in  his  hands ;  and,  at  other 
times,  slips  a  shilling  or  a  sixpence  into  my  hand  at  lea^ng, 
thinking,  doubtless,  that  he  has  given  me  a  guinea ! 

Friday. — The  idea  of  Miss  Dudleigh's  rapidly  approaching 
marriage  continues  still  uppermost  in  her  father's  head ;  and  he 
is  incessantly  pestering  her  to  make  preparations  for  the  event. 
To-day  he  appealed  to  me,  and  complained  that  she  would  not 
order  her  wedding-dress. 

"  Father,  dear  father ! "  said  Miss  Dudleigh  faintly,  laying  her 
wasted  hand  on  his  arm,  "  only  be  quiet  a  little,  and  I'll  begin  to 
make  it !  I'll  really  set  about  it  to-morrow  !  "  He  kissed  her 
fondly,  and  then  eagerly  emptied  his  pockets  of  all  the  loose  sil- 
ver that  was  in  them,  telling  her  to  take  it,  and  order  the  mate- 
rials. I  saw  that  there  was  something  or  other  peculiar  in  the 
expression  of  Miss  Dudleigh's  eye,  in  saying  what  she  did,  as  if 
some  sudden  scheme  had  suggested  itself  to  her.  Indeed,  the 
looks  with  which  she  constantly  regards  him,  are  such  as  I  can 
find  no  adequate  terms  of  description  for.  They  bespeak  blended 
anguish,  apprehension,  pity,  love ;  in  short,  an  expression  that 
haunts  me  wherever  I  go.  Oh,  what  a  scene  of  suffering  hu- 
manity ! — a  daughter's  deathbed,  watched  by  an  idiot  father ! 

Monday. — I  now  know  what  was  Miss  Dudleigh's  meaning, 
in  assenting  to  her  father's  proposal  last  Friday.  I  found,  this 
morning,  the  poor  dear  girl  engaged  on  her  shroud !  It  is  of 
fine  muslin,  and  she  is  attempting  to  sew  and  embroider  it.  The 
people  about  her  did  all  they  could  to  dissuade  her :  but  there 
was  at  last  no  resisting  her  importunities.  Yes !  there  she  sits, 
poor  thing,  propped  up  by  pillows,  making  frequent  but  feeble 


444  DIARY  OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 

efforts  to  draw  her  needle  through  her  gloomy  work — ^her  father, 
the  while,  holding  one  end  of  the  muslin,  and  watching  her 
work  with  childish  eagerness !  Sometimes  a  tear  will  fall  from 
her  eyes  while  thus  engaged.  Itdid  this  morning.  Mr  Dudleigh 
observed  it,  and  turning  to  me,  said,  with  an  arch  smile,  "  Ah, 
ha !  how  is  it  that  young  ladies  always  cry  about  being  mar- 
ried ?  "  Oh,  the  look  Miss  Dudleigh  gave  me,  as  she  suddenly 
dropped  her  work,  and  turned  her  head  aside ! 

Saturday. — Mr  Dudleigh  is  hard  at  work  making  his  daughter 
a  cowslip  wreath,  out  of  some  flowers  given  him  by  his  keeper. 

When  I  took  my  leave  to-day,  he  accompanied  me,  as  usual, 
down  stairs,  and  led  the  way  into  the  little  parlour.  He  then  shut 
the  door,  and  told  me,  in  a  low  whisper,  that  he  wished  me  to 
bring  him  an  honest  lawyer  to  make  his  will ;  for  that  he  was  go- 
ing to  settle  L.200,000  upon  his  daughter ! — of  course,  I  put  him 
off  with  promises  to  look  out  for  what  he  asked.  It  is  rather 
remarkable,  I  think,  that  he  has  never  once,  in  my  hearing,  made 
any  allusion  to  his  deceased  wife.  As  I  shook  his  hand  at  parting, 
he  stared  suddenly  at  me,  and  said,  "  Doctor,  doctor !  my  daugh- 
ter is  VERY  slow  in  gett'ng  well — isn't  she  ?  " 

Monday,  July  23.— Ti  j  suffering  angel  will  soon  leave  us  and 
all  her  sorrows !  She  is  dying  fast.  She  is  very  much  altered 
in  appearance,  and  has  not  power  enough  to  speak  in  more  than 
a  whisper,  and  that  but  seldom.  Her  father  sits  gazing  at  her 
with  a  puzzled  air,  as  if  he  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  het 
unusual  silence.  He  was  a  good  deal  vexed  when  she  laid  aside 
her  wedding-dress  ;  and  tried  to  tempt  her  to  resume  it,  by  show- 
ing her  a  shilling !  While  I  was  sitting  beside  her.  Miss  Dud- 
leigh, without  opening  her  eyes,  exclaimed,  scarcely  audible, 
"  Oh !  be  kind  to  him !  be  kind  to  him !  He  won't  be  long  here  f 
He  is  very  gentle ! " 

Monday  evening. — Happening  to  be  summoned  to  the  neigh- 
bourhood, I  called  a  second  time  during  the  day  on  Miss  Dud- 
leigh. All  was  quiet  when  I  entered  the  room.  The  nurse 
was  sitting  at  the  window,  reading ;  and  Mr  Dudleigh  occupied 
his  usual  place  at  the  bedside,  leaning  over  his  daughter,  whose 
arms  were  clasped  together  round  his  neck. 


THE  RUINED  MERCHANT. CHAPTER  XXII.  445 

"  Hush !  hush !  "  said  Mr  Dudleigh,  in  a  low  whisper,  as  I 
approached — "  Don't  make  a  noise — she's  asleep  !  "  Yes,  she 
iras  ASLEEP — and  to  wake  no  more !  Her  snow-cold  arms — her 
features — -which,  on  parting  the  dishevelled  hair  that  hid  them, 
I  perceived  to  be  fallen — told  me  that  she  was  dead ! 


She  was  buried  in  the  same  grave  as  her  mother.  Her 
wretched  father,  contrary  to  our  apprehensions,  made  no  dis- 
turbance whatever  while  she  lay  dead.  They  told  him  that  she 
was  no  more — but  he  did  not  seem  to  comprehend  what  was 
meant.  He  would  take  hold  of  her  passive  hand,  gently  shake 
it,  and  let  it  fall  again,  with  a  melancholy  wandering  stare,  that 
was  pitiable!  He  sat  at  her  coffin-side  all  daylong,  and  laid 
fresh  flowers  upon  her  every  morning.  Dreading  lest  some 
sudden  paroxysm  might  occur,  if  he  was  suffered  to  see  the  lid 
screwed  down,  and  her  remains  removed,  we  gave  him  a  toler- 
ably strong  opiate  in  some  wine,  on  the  morning  of  the  funeral; 
and,  as  soon  as  he  was  fast  asleep,  we,proceeded  with  the  last 
sad  rites,  and  committed  to  the  coldi,^nd  quiet  grave  another 
broken  heart. 

Mr  Dudleigh  suffered  himself  to  be  soon  after  conveyed  to  a 
private  asylum,  where  he  had  every  comfort  and  attention  re- 
quisite for  his  circumstances.  He  had  fallen  into  profound 
melancholy,  and  seldom  or  never  spoke  to  any  one.  He  would 
shake  me  by  the  hand  languidly,  when  I  called  to  see  him, 
but  hung  down  his  head  in  silence,  without  answering  any  of 
my  questions. 

His  favourite  seat  was  a  rustic  bench  beneath  an  ample  syca- 
more tree,  in  the  green  behind  the  house.  Here  he  would  sit, 
for  hours  together,  gazing  fixedly  in  one  direction,  towards  a 
rustic  church-steeple,  and  uttering  deep  sighs.  No  one  inter- 
fered with  him ;  and  he  took  no  notice  of  any  one.  One  after- 
noon a  gentleman  of  foreign  appearance  called  at  the  asylum, 
and  in  a  hurried,  faltering  voice,  asked  if  he  could  see  Mr 
Dudleio-h.     A   servant   but  newly  engaged  on  the  establish- 


446  DIARY  or  A  I.ATE  PHTSICIAN. 

ment,  imprudently  answered—"  Certainly,  sir.  Yonder  he  is 
sitting  under  the  sycamore.  He  never  notices  any  one  sir." 
The  stranger— young  Dudleigh,  who  had  but  that  morning 
arrived  from  America— rushed  past  the  servant  into  the  garden  • 
and,  flinging  down  his  hat,  fell  on  one  knee  before  his  father, 
clasping  his  hands  over  his  breast.  Finding  his  father  did  not 
seem  inclined  to  notice  him,  he  gently  touched  him  on  the  knee, 
and  whispered— "Father!"  Mr  Dudleigh  started  at  the 
sound— turned  suddenly  towards  his  son— looked  him  full  in  the 
face— fell  back  in  his  seat— and  instantly  expired. 


ESt>  OF  VOL.  I. 


PKINTED    BY    W'fLL'AM    BLACKWOOD    A.VD   SONS,    EDINBURGH. 


iM^ 


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